#*chews through the bars of my cell*

[dasagoo]

Beckett headcannons? I got the Becky boy brain rot

oooh I got quite a few! You're feeding my Beckett delirium. This will likely be long because I don't get to spew this shit often. putting it with a read more to keep the beckett deniers tame :3

I like to think Beckett has a few tattoos. A few eagles and probably a few really sloppy ones he gave himself or that others gave him (probably when drunk). He isn't covered with them but has quite a few, mainly around his arms, chest, back, and one or two on his thigh.

Beckett would also be chunky. Lots to love. Plushy man boobs. You know! Pillows on his front. Beer gut. Tall and big! I like to think around 6'1. I also like to think Beckett's appearance is a little terrifying and he still looks like he is a raider who could kick your ass when he probably could not nowadays.

He would use "love" or "my love" as petnames. He also finds PDA a little awkward. He is just an awkward guy in general around romance things. His charisma is high. He is a lovable guy and loves to interact with strangers at his bar. When it comes to love... he's a goof.

He is very bisexual and has had flings with both men and women when he was still in gangs. Nothing romantic. Sexual (while likely high and drunk). I know he is bi in canon too, but thats just Bethesda not writing sexuality so it doesn't count lmao.

Beckett is actually his last name, (again, also canon to an extent). His first name would probably be something stupid or embarrassing and that he preferred his last name over his first name, so it stuck. Only his brother would know his dead name.

Beckett isn't trusted by a lot of people - especially within Foundation and Crater. There are those who still see him as a Blood Eagle, so visiting Foundation or Crater is a gamble. The people who visit his bar are either oblivious to his past or dismissive over his history. Being a Blood Eagle is a blemish he can't exactly scrub off.

Beckett would snore 😴 ....loudly likely.

Goofy smile. GOOFY SMILE. CUTE GOOFY SMILE. BEAR HUGS. PICK ME UP!!!!!!!!

I like to think he doesn't just sell drinks at his bar but also items the Vaultie finds that are valuable. He also worries sick about them while theyre gone on their trips. It's like the spongebob episode that says "I dunno, what do you normally do while I'm gone?" "Wait for you to get back!"

alright lmao thats enough for now. Funny enough tho I have a private passworded tumblr where I keep headcanons for my blorbos. A lot is... uh... deeper *wink* than this surface level if you catch my drift. Also a lot that goes with my Vaultie and how he is with them. maybe I'll give it out one day. maybe lmao

[suiana]

Would love more Yandere prison Warden! He is such a silly guy fr fr !!!!!!

(yandere! prison warden x gn! inmate reader) (kinda nsfw, talking about ass and boobs)

there's two things that always annoys you with this man.

his ass.

like why is it so big? why is it so voluptuous? and why the hell does he of all people have it?

he has no right to have such a sexy ass. he's a crazy, delusional, and annoying man-baby. he shouldn't be allowed to have a plump, round, and voluptuous ass that jiggles if you slap it.

his tits are annoying too.

why on earth are they so big? why are they so squishy? why the hell does it feel so good to sleep on them?

it literally makes zero sense for him to have not only a sexy ass, but also the sexiest boobs ever. like yeah, he trains and goes to the gym and stuff but he shouldn't have such a sexy body! not when he's just a loser that desperately wants your love and attention!

he should be in jail for how his good his ass and tits look. they're absolutely distracting and it annoys you to an incredible extent. especially because it makes you look like a big old pervert with how your eyes are always staring straight at his tits and ass.

it also doesn't help that the prison warden uniform is tight.

"oi, can you change your outfit?"

you grunt to your personal prison warden, looking up at him as you squat on the ground. he turns around, humming at you before grinning slightly.

"babe! this is the first time you've talked to me first! and all willingly too?! you sound a little annoyed though-"

"quit rambling ugh. just... just wanted to tell you that your uniform is too tight. how do you even work in it huh? when all of that is exposed?"

you feel your cheeks heat up with each and every word. shit, why was this so embarrassing to say? you used to flirt shamelessly with others! so why on earth does saying this make your heart race like a child with a first crush?! you're not even saying anything bad! just pointing out how his assets are on display for the whole world to see!

"huh? exposed? what do you mean? did my pants tear?"

he questions you, feeling around his pants with a slight frown. you chew on your bottom lip at this, feeling your annoyance and embarrassment soar through the roof. god damn it, you don't know whether he's dumb or just likes to tease you. is he seriously not aware that he has a fat dumpy?!

"god do you seriously not know?! your ass! it's so big! and your tits too! ugh!"

you mumble flusteredly, cheeks a furious red as you cough slightly. damn, he was not going to let you live this down. you should've just kept quiet about this little observation you made-

"my... ass? and tits?"

he pauses for a second before his grin widens.

"baby you've been staring at me, huh? aw that's so sweet!"

he gushes happily, cheeks pink as he grips the bars to your prison cell tightly. his joyous giggles fill the room as he starts rambling about how you're going to fall for him next and agree to run away with him.

you shake your head in response, feeling your embarrassment fie down as regret and embarrassment settles in. dang, you knew this would feed his delusions. you really would have been better off keeping your observations a secret.

[just-some-random-blogger]

Snow Angel

Gwyane's Version

I'll angel in the snow until I'm worthy but if it kills me, I tried.

Gwyane's Version ❄ Daemon's Version ❄ Aegon's Version ❄ Aemond's Version ❄ Jacaerys' Version ❄ Cregan's Version ❄ Criston's Version

Gwayne Hightower x Reader | 700< | cw: fem!reader, servant!reader, angst, violence, blood, death, typos, etc.

A/N: renee rapp my beloved.

Frost was coming for your lips. You wouldn't be able to speak even if you tried. Your body was shaking; your clothes were muddy and torn.

It's ironic how it seems you would die in the filth after all the efforts you took to afford perfume, to rise in station, to reach him. And now look at you, you were bloody, beaten, and begrimed.

You flinch when you hear the dungeon doors open. You curl your knees deeper into your chest, fear causing your shivers to intensify. You barely have the energy to make out a word, but you do, for the sake of living, "please."

You hear a faint a voice. You force yourself to look up when you recognize it.

Gwayne looks at you, crouching down as he holds onto the bars of your cell. He calls out your name, and you feel yourself grow nauseous. He reaches out a hand to you, beckoning you over. You do not go to him. You do not wish to soil him. You do not want him to see you like this.

"Darling," he urges with his palm, "come to me."

You shake your head rapidly.

Gwayne gulps, waiting for you to change your mind. You don't. He grips the bars and clenches his jaw, "my father spoke to you."

You feel a chill run down your spine.

"What did he say?" he asks, as if he didn't know exactly what his father wanted from you. Still, he waits a response, to no avail. He sighs, "did he ask you to confess?"

Confess? There was nothing to confess. You were wrongfully sentenced and tortured. For what? Even now, you did not know.

The man feels his body tighten at the silence. He chews his lip before asking, "do you trust me?"

You turn to him, eyes watering.

If he professed the sky was red in the morn and yellow in the night, you would believe him. The things you did all to become Lady Alicent's handmaid, to be near him, to please him, to have him... you nod your head.

Gwayne stands, eyes still on your pitiful figure, "when my father returns, he will make you plead guilty. I want you to admit to it."

Your face drops.

"He would not hurt you. He will lose me if he does... he cannot lose his heir."

Your body was too weak to weep. You simply stare at him as your insides corrode.

"Will you do it?" he asks, tilting his head.

You turn to your knees. You watch them tremble. It's not like you had a choice. You shudder as a chill ripples through your body. You nod your head, curling into yourself.

He gulps at the sight of you. A line forms in his brow, "it will not be long... I will free you, I swear it."

He does. Everything he says comes to pass. Otto Hightower returns, face grave as ever. He asks if you will confess, and without missing a beat, you nod. Without another word, he releases you, and you are dragged out of your cell. You have to be taken by the arm to stay upright, too weak to do so on your own.

You flinch at the daylight, and though your eyes were irritated, you were relieved to see it. Otto, who walked before you, stops, sequentially turning to the guard escorting you. You are pulled back.

He walks forward, and your realize Gwayne is speaking to him.

Without warning, you are winded. A body numbing pain rips into your gut and you are no longer cold. Suddenly, you are incredibly warm; you feel it gushing down your belly. The guard withdraws his blade, wiping it on his sleeve before sheathing it.

It takes you dropping to the floor for Gwayne realize what's happened. His is too shocked to act at first. He reels back before dropping to his knees to cradle you.

He glares at his father, "did you have to kill her?!"

"She confessed to the crime. The sentence is death."

"She only confessed because-"

"She confessed."

Gwayne rocks you, eyes watering, "you told me I could keep her."

"You intended to marry he-"

"I DID NOT!" he snaps, turning to his father with a face of fury, "I would have kept her my servant, my maid..."

You manage to brush hand on his shoulder. He looks back at you.

"But she would be m-" he does not continue his words as he watches your eyes close.

[archangeldyke-all]

Something with like cellmate prisoner!sevika?! 😭😭😭 idk I just think like her being all dangerous and powerful, having a shit ton of friends but like selectively, no one messing with her maybe even hating how just mean she is. And then comes in reader and yk. I’d love if the story was smutty but u can chose ofc 🫦

i love this so much

men and minors dni

living in zaun is shit. but the one thing that's always kept you and a majority of your fellow citizens in line, was the ever-looming presence of stillwater prison just a few miles away. you've watched countless people enter those prison walls. you know very few who ever came back out.

and now, through a series of unfortunate events that lead to you assaulting an undercover enforcer, you're going to find out first hand just how horrible stillwater really is.

you don't think you've ever been so nervous in your life as the enforcer guides you-- restrained and already hating the itchy fabric of your new life-long uniform--down a long, long hall of cells.

he's chewing a wad of bubblegum, casually, like you aren't about to piss yourself with nerves. "listen kid." he says, looking you up and down. "i read your file. seems like you were just in the wrong place at the wrong time." he says, shrugging. "no prior arrests, clean record-- honestly i'm surprised they sent you here, but i guess you did break marcus' nose." the enforcer chuckles here.

"you know that asshole?" you ask. the man guiding you snorts.

"'s my boss." he mumbles. beside you, a prisoner lunges at the bars of their cell, screaming at you. you jump, and the guard laughs. "as i was sayin'-- you seem like a real peach. like you'd be a good influence on some of our... rougher prisoners." he mumbles.

dread starts to curl in your stomach. you have a pretty good idea of where this conversation is headed, and you don't like the outcome. you just hope you aren't cellmates with someone real bad: like genie the counter-fitter who got caught two years ago; esmee the weapons expert who successfully set an entire square block of piltover's wealthiest neighborhood ablaze; or, god forbid, sevika.

she'd been caught just weeks ago, smuggling an entire airship's worth of shimmer into piltover's loading docks. it was big fucking news.

sevika's a big fucking deal.

and you want absolutely nothing to do with her.

which is why, of course, the guard pulls you to a stop right outside of the only cell with a light on, the low, dim glow of a reading lamp and the quick flickering light of a lighter. you feel like you're gonna barf.

sitting in the shadows of the cell, puffing on a hand-rolled cigarette, sits sevika, silco's second in command.

if he's the eye of zaun, she's the arm. he might be watching-- but she's doing. she's nothing but bad news; everything you've tried your best to avoid while living in the undercity.

well, look how well that turned out for you.

"sevika, meet your new cellmate." the enforcer calls out. a pair of silver eyes snap up from her book and lock on yours. you shiver.

"fucks' wrong with her?" she mumbles. you gulp.

"nervous, i'd assume. 's her first-offense." the guard says. he shoves you into the cell and you jump as the bars slam shut behind you. "you ladies have fun." he says, before turning and walking away, the smacks of his gum echoing behind him.

sevika inspects you from her chair.

"how'd you fuck up so bad you ended up in a cell with me from your first offense?" she asks, seemingly intrigued.

"punched an undercover enforcer." you whisper. sevika's eyebrow hitches up, a little amused.

"yeah?"

"think his name was marcus, or something." you mumble. she sputters.

"ha! really!?" she asks, a little smile growing on her face. you nod. she takes a drag off her cigarette, then points at the bunk beds. "i get bottom. don't go thinkin' 'cause we're cellmates it means you get to touch my shit. i got people outside pullin' big favors for met to get shit like this." she gestures to her cigarettes and lamp. you nod. "don't look so nervous. i won't bite unless you piss me off."

you try to stop shivering. you don't succeed. "s-sorry."

she studies you for a moment, her smile growing as she does. though she's no longer armed with shimmer, her arm's still in perfect working condition, five little daggers gently tapping on the table top as her eyes dart across you. "you from the lanes?" she asks. you nod. she snorts. "you know who i am?" she asks. you nod again. she chuckles, then stands. she approaches you, circling around you like you're prey, then chuckling and leaning back against the table, crossing her arms over her chest. "you scared'a me?" she asks.

"shouldn't i be?" you choke out.

it seems to be the right answer. sevika laughs, then sits back down at her table, picking her book back up, chuckling intermittently for minutes after.

she's not a bad roommate. she's surprisingly tidy, always quiet, her nose usually buried in a book. she smokes like a fucking chimney, and you've come to find she gets her tobacco-- and sometimes a bit of weed-- from one of the guards every tuesday night.

she's got special privileges among most of the guards. they're always sneaking her books and flasks, letting her get away without cell-searches, letting her read past lights out and have lighters and screwdrivers and other dangerous, weapon-like tools.

you, on the other hand, do not have these privileges. and, keeping in line with sevika's one and only rule, you don't touch her shit. all of this means that while sevika smokes and works on her arm and reads and works out, you spend your time just... sitting on the top bunk. watching her.

sometimes, during open cell time, she gets visitors. you're surprised that none of these visits end in shady dealings-- sevika doesn't seem to need to trade her stash of goods for anything. most of her visits are quick, and most end the same way: a small scrap of paper being shoved in sevika's hand.

she burns the scraps after she reads whatever's on them.

she's... pleasant, sometimes. it's rare, but it happens. one day, you'd forgotten to make your bed before you went to breakfast. you returned to find it neatly made, and when you thanked her for helping you avoid trouble with the guards, she had just waved it off. "don' get used to it. i won't always be here to fix your mistakes."

once, a fight broke out while you were in the showers. you were sent back to your cell soaking wet-- your hair still lathered in shampoo. she had chuckled, called you a "wet rat", and helped you rinse your hair out in the tiny sink in your cell.

and... she's kinda pretty. it occurred to you one evening while the two of you were partaking in your nightly routine: sevika reading in her chair while you study her, pretending to sleep. she'd glanced up at you and whispered. "why're you always lookin' at me?"

you shrugged, then nearly choked on your tongue when 'you're pretty' almost slipped out of your mouth. "uh... i got nothing else to look at." you'd ended up saying. she seemed to accept this.

"you don't have any prison girlfriends?" you ask. sevika's in a particularly jovial mood today: the note she'd been delivered earlier in the afternoon must've had great news. she's decided to share her joint with you. the question slipped out the second you took your first puff-- your tolerance astronomically low from being without for so long.

sevika laughs. "nah."

"but..." you cut yourself off before you get yourself in trouble, biting your lip. sevika chuckles, then nudges your leg.

"y' can say it." she says. you smile at her, then speak.

"it's just... i had a few friends who work at babette's." you say. "i figured you'd have as much of a reputation here as you do there."

she takes a second, tilting her neck side to side as it cracks, then sighing. "i got shit to do in here." she says simply. you raise an eyebrow at her, biting your lip again, and she chuckles. "say it." she demands again.

"you just read all day." you laugh. sevika nods.

"i'm... working." she says. you just nod along, pretending you understand what she's alluding to.

it happens in the strangest way but you and sevika start to become... friends.

she sits alone at lunch, and you sit alone too, on the oppisite side of the cafeteria. but you're so used to looking at sevika, that you find yourself watching her even when there are much more entertaining things to look at, like the handful of fights that break out every meal.

you notice she loves the jello cups you guys get once a week. so you pocket yours and toss it at her later that night. the way she smiles lights up the room even brighter than her tiny lamp. you make it a habit.

she starts loaning you her books, finds you a crate to sit on by her table while you guys read together at night.

and when sevika gets jumped in the middle of the night-- you don't even question it before you jump out of your bunk, grab sevika's screwdriver where she left it on the table, and start swinging in the dark, blindly.

"what the fuck?" someone squawks when you manage to stab something in the dark.

"what?" sevika whispers in the dark.

"sevika, your bunkmate fucking stabbed me!" her attacker's voice rings out.

a light flicks on. you cringe at the sudden brightness, then blink in confusion as sevika and a guard with a screwdriver sticking out of their shoulder stare at you.

sevika's grinning. the guard is scowling. you hold your hands up in shaky fists, preparing for a fight. sevika chuckles.

"relax, sweetheart." she says, swinging her arm around you and tugging you into her side. "ran's a friend." she whispers into your ear. you blink at the bleeding guard, then back at sevika.

"so, what, we're taking your girlfriend with us now?" the guard-- ran-- asks. sevika looks at her friend, then looks at you, a calculating look in her eye. she smirks, shrugs, then looks back at the guard.

"she threw herself between me and a uniform-- can't just throw that kinda loyalty out, now can i?" she asks, smiling.

you don't know what's happening. you're about to ask-- when suddenly you black out.

the first thing that comes back to you is your sense of hearing.

voices.

"sevika, fuck, you can't just throw a wrench in the plan like this--"

"i can do whatever the fuck i want--"

"on the night of the breakout?! no heads up!?"

"do i need to remind you which one of us is second in command, here?!"

"...fuck. c'mon, help me load her in the van."

the next thing is your sense of touch. you're laying on the rumbling cold steel of a van floor-- currently in motion.

you're shivering, but then something warm and wool and smelling like cigars is draped over you.

you're head keeps bumping uncomfortably with every crack in the road. someone gently picks your head up and puts it in their warm nap, a hand coming down to scratch your scalp.

your voice comes next. "mmmh?"

"it's okay." sevika's voice comes. you groan, cracking your eyes open, only for her face to be grinning down at you. "fuckin' maniac." she giggles.

"wha?" you groan. you're seeing double, your head is pounding.

"ran knocked you out. 's what you get for stabbin' 'em." sevika chuckles. "but, you're lucky, 'cause they don't hold a grudge. they helped me lug your ass outta stillwater."

"wha?!" you ask again, snapping up. sevika laughs as you look out the front window of the van-- the depths of piltover surrounding you as you head, presumebly, to the last drop.

you recognize the man driving-- a tall, muscular, tattooed man who'd recently been added to your cell block's guard rotation. in the passengers' seat sits the guard you'd stabbed-- bandaged and watching you with amusement.

"wha's happenin'?" you mumble, looking back at your cellmate as you clutch a hand to your throbbing head. you've been shrouded in a red cloak-- sevika's already out of her prison uniform and back in her 'second in command' look. she smirks at you.

"y' really think i was jus' sittin' around, servin' my time?" she asks. you shrug.

"figured somethin' was goin' on. y' kept gettin' those notes. didn't wanna ask." you groan. sevika chuckles.

"well, you shoulda. or i shoulda warned you, so you didn't try killing my crew." she chuckles. you blink over to the person in the passengers' seat, cringing.

"s-sorry." you mumble. they wave it off.

"'s cool. knocked you right the fuck out, didn't i?" they chuckle. "we're even."

you turn back to sevika. "you broke me out of prison?" you ask. she shrugs.

"'re you mad about it?" she asks. you gawk at her.

"uh... just... a little surprised?"

sevika cackles. you smile at the sound, despite your headache. "i wasn't plannin' on it! then you started givin' me your jello, 'n readin' all my books, 'n..."

"she's got a crush on you." ran fills in from the front.

"i didn't say that!" she shouts.

"she's not denying it though--" the man driving teases.

you choke on your spit. sevika huffs, rolls her eyes, and speaks. "i... i kinda got a crush on you, yeah." she mumbles. "and i swear i'm not sayin' this jus' 'cause i think you're cute but: you should really stay with us at the last drop until things calm back down, since, y'know... you're kinda wanted now..." she says, rubbing the back of her neck.

you blink... shocked.

you don't really know what to think. you tried your whole life to stay out of trouble, and it managed to find you anyways in the form of a drunken under-cover enforcer deciding to smack your ass when you'd had too many drinks to hold your punches. you tried to stay out of trouble in stillwater until you were saddled with sevika. you tried to stay out of trouble with her until she dragged you-- literally, you were unconscious!-- out of prison along with her. it seems like trouble's meant for you.

but if there's one thing you're certain of, it's sevika.

you smile at her, then reach up to cup her cheek. she looks more nervous than you've seen her in all your months in stillwater together.

"you gotta crush on me?" you ask. she gulps.

"i'd say it's a little more than a crush seeing she broke you outta stillwater as your first date--"

"ran!" sevika hollers. you chuckle.

"is this our first date?" you ask, raising your eyebrow at her. she shrugs.

"it's... jus' don't expect the next dates to be this exciting." she chuckles, rolling her eyes. you grin, then dart forward and press a kiss to her lips. when you pull away, she's wearing that same nervous look again.

"you okay?" you whisper. she licks her lips, nuzzles a bit against your hand on her face, and nods.

"'m just kickin' myself for not puttin' the moves on you sooner. coulda been fuckin' you to pass the time in prison instead of readin' all those boring books." she mumbles. you burst into laughter, and she grins.

taglist!

@fyeahnix @sapphicsgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner @shimtarofstupidity @love-sugarr @chuucanchuucan @222danielaa @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther @gr0ssz0mbi3 @ellsss @sevikaspillowprincess @leomatsuzaki @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai @vikasub

[risingoftime]

A NIGHT TO REMEMBER ⟡ HOBIE BROWN

Hobie runs into you after his show at the local pub. The both of you haven’t seen each other since the phone call and things get steamy in the alleyway.

a/n: thank you so much for all the love on the part i! wrote this on my train ride home. hopefully i can make more time to write₊˚ෆ 18+

part i | part ii

It was hard to avoid Hobie after the previous night's incident when you worked at the pub the Spider-Slayers performed. They were given residency after you introduced the band to your uncle, the owner. The band gained popularity through you, and the pub was always packed on Friday nights due to them. They were making your job that much more hectic. The music made your ears ring, and the bass from Hobie’s guitar vibrated through your whole body. Hobie mainly wrote the piece for the Spider-Slayers, and It was as if you could feel the passion he put into every song. You filled pints of beer and fulfilled orders at a record-setting speed. You were one of the top bartenders at the pub, and the tips reflected that. It could also be the push-up bra and revealing tops helping you along the way, but you liked to think it was your charming personality. Tonight, you wore a mini skirt, so the tips were even more generous than before. 

Punk rock blasted from outside the bar as you lugged the trash from the back door into the alleyway. Once everything was discarded, you reached into the side of your bra and dumped the receipts with phone numbers from customers who failed attempts to hit on you. 

“Hope you’re not throwing out my digits as well.” 

Hobie leaned against the stonewall, observing you casually with a crooked smile. He wore his signature studded leather vest, fingers clad with chunky rings, and his guitar strapped behind his back. Hobie sent your senses in a craze, flashbacks of last night with his lewd moans and whimpers flooded your mind. Hearing Hobie softly whisper your name through the phone made it impossible for you not to satisfy your dirty desires. Last night you fucked yourself shamelessly with your fingers alongside Hobie. Urging your fingers to go deeper than they can. His words edged you closer to a climax that you never reached.

Things got cut short when you were caught red-handed. The moment you heard “Hello, love.” You panicked and ended the call without a second thought. You knew that, regardless, you’d have to face Hobie the next day. And here he stood in all glory, waiting for your response. His statement was dubbed as innocent, but you knew better. You gave him a pointed glare and smiled sweetly before meeting his earthy brown eyes. 

“Who said I had your number to begin with?”

Hobie took a couple of steps closer towards you, closing the gap between the both of you with these long strides. “After last night, I would’ve assumed it was saved.” He adjusted a loose curl that was out of place on your head, using any excuse to touch you. “It takes more than that to gain a spot in my cell,” you stated. 

“Oh, yeah?” Hobie placed his hands on the brick wall on either side of your head, trapping you in one spot. His face was mere inches away so that you could see his piercings and striking features up close. The image of him you conjured last night was no competition for the real deal. Keeping eye contact made breathing hard, with your heart beating so loudly that it rang in your ears. “Yeah,” your voice came out an octave higher and shaky; You could barely be heard over the music coming from inside. But Hobie still heard it loud and clear. 

“Can I change your mind?” Hobie was now barely inches away from your face. You could smell the mint on his breath from the gum that he was chewing earlier on stage. Before you could pause to think clearly about what you agreed to, your head nodded on its own accord. Hobie unzipped and unbuckled his pants swiftly with one hand.  His hands began to slip under your skirt. The mere feel of your bare skin made Hobie’s dick throb. He pulled your underwear down just enough to rub his tip against your clit in circular teasing motions. The warm contact of his skin along your folds was a sensation you’d been craving. You both marvelled at how wet you had become from the simple movement. Your clit pulsates with each brush of his dick. Hobie’s breath hitched as he held back a soft whimper. 

He planted small kisses at first, his breathing growing heavy. Until his lips entirely overtook your own, the cold feel of his lip ring felt amazing. Inviting him to deepen the kiss, you could feel his tongue moving against yours while he guided his dick dangerously close to your hole. Instinctively, you wrapped your arms around Hobie and played with the curls on the nape of his neck.  

Hobie only broke the kiss to hoist you up against the wall. “Hobie—“ you gasped out. You couldn’t hide the shock at his strength and capabilities to balance your weight swiftly. “Shhh, just let me… I just need….” Hobie couldn’t even complete his sentence as he guided his erection to your entrance. He took his time entering inside you, allowing you to adjust to his thick length. Hobie was bigger than you had imagined. 

“God, you’re taking me in so well,” Hobie groaned as he watched his cock go in and out of your pussy. His member was already glistening from your wetness. His calloused hands gripped your ass firmly while he did so. Fuck, you were like putty in his hands. “I want this pussy all to myself,” he said more to himself than to you. Hobie’s eyes glazed over as you moaned in his ear, “It's all yours.”

Hobie’s head lowers onto your shoulder as gentle groans fall from his lips. He left small kisses and love bites on your neck as he pummeled into your pussy. All that could be heard in the alley was your moans and the music wavering from the bar. “Shit, Hobie—you feel so…” You've never experienced something like this. The way Hobie filled you and stroked your walls made your pussy wetter the longer he continued. Your legs were wrapped around his waist as he thrust into your creamy pussy. 

You tightened your walls around his dick and gripped Hobie’s shoulders for balance. Hobie fought to hold back his orgasm whilst whispering “cum for me” against your lips. It’s as if he was stripping your defences one by one. You didn’t resist him, wholly at his mercy, to fuck you how he pleased. Your convulsing orgasm ran through the both of you like a warm current. At that moment, all that existed was just you two. Grasping bodies and breathing in each other's air like it was your last. If Hobie wasn't holding you up, you knew you'd slump down from weariness. No one has made you cum like that. 

Hobie pulled out of you hurriedly; his dick remained hard, and yearned for more. Still, in a daze and with shaky legs, he gently lowered you onto your feet. 

“Make sure you save my number this time.”

[upsidedownwithsteve]

A Couple Days In (I Call You Baby)

Modern!Steve Harrington x fem!reader [6.8K] 18+ the two night stand au no one asked for, or, the fic where you meet steve on a dating app and then a snowstorm ensures you can't sneak out the next morning. PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE

Being single was becoming boring. 

Boring in the way that seeing your friends in love and having fun in a way that you weren’t was starting to hurt. A full ache, settling in your chest until it bore a hole there and stayed, taking up space where the heartbreak used to live. 

You weren’t heartbroken. Not anymore. You were less sad, less angry. You were bored. And almost always perpetually turned on. You didn’t want love, you certainly didn’t want another relationship but you were at the stage of feeling that yearning pull when you watched a romcom on your sofa, slumped against your roommate with a frown on your lips. 

“I think I’ve forgotten what it’s like to be touched,” you said mournfully, your gaze fixed in the way Patrick Swayze’s hand trailed down Jennifer Grey’s side. 

“Babe, this is rated a fifteen,” Robin snorted in reply but she ran a hand over your hair anyway. “It’s that bad huh?” She grinned when you whined at the screen, watching with wide eyes as Johnny Castle took off Baby’s shirt. 

You sat up, taking the blanket with you and Robin huffed, dragging her half back. There was an empty bottle of red wine on the table, Chinese takeout cartons and a mess of charging cables, your laptop, Robin’s cell phone. 

“I just want some fun,” you grumbled. “Nothing serious, just— just someone to fool around with.”

“You want a fuck buddy?” Robin grinned salacious, the movie forgotten as she turned to face you, leaning against the arm of the couch. “Should I go through my Instagram? Give you the name of every boy I know?”

“You know like, seven boys,” you scoffed but Robin reached for her phone anyway. “And no, god, no fuck buddies. Even that’s too much commitment.”

She laughed and pressed a foot to your thigh, the touch familiar and friendly. “Shit, are you actually considering a hook up?”

You squirmed, too warm. 

“You are!” Robin squealed, “wow. I never thought I’d see the day. Little miss relationship just wants a one night stand, a fuck ‘em and chuck ‘em kinda—”

“Robin,” you groaned, hands rubbing at your face because the idea of it was so out of your wheelhouse that it was comical. But then Patrick Swayze started crawling across the floor on your TV screen. You paused, frowning. “Fuck, is that bad? Is it bad if I want that?”

Robin scoffed, leaning over to grab the bowl of popcorn you’d both forgotten about. “What? Dude, no. Of course not!” Her voice turned softer, kinder. “You can do whatever you want to do. You deserve to have some fun.”

“I don’t know how to,” you whispered and your chest felt tight again, like that well of boredom was filing again, spilling over with sadness and heartache. You hated it. 

“What, have fun?”

You frowned. “No - well, maybe - no, how to hook up with someone.” You chewed at your lip, confused and panicking despite the fact you were still firmly seated in yours and Robin’s apartment. “Do I just walk into a bar? Pick a guy and ask him if he wants to come home with me?”

Robin spluttered out a laugh, gasping into her wine glass and she looked at you over the rim of it, eyes filled with humour. “Jesus, if you do, can you make sure I’m there to watch it happen?”

You set her with a withering stare, pulling the blanket up to your chest and gazing back at the TV, wistful. You sighed, resigning yourself to the fact that you most definitely couldn’t march into a bar and claim a prize for the night, no matter how many glasses of wine you’d nursed. Robin seemed to understand this, because she nudged you again, a socked foot poking at your knee. 

“You could always try online dating,” she told you mildly.

You scrunched your nose, not taking your eyes off of the way Johnny Castle was thrusting his hips. “Ew,” you replied, voice flat. “Like tinder? Nancy told me I’d never be desperate enough for tinder.”

Robin snorted at the mention of her prim and proper girlfriend but she shook her head anyway. “Nah, go old school with it. Try a website or something, one that doesn’t rely on a carousel of shirtless photos and men holding up either a fish or a puppy in their profile.”

You laughed, draining the last of your wine as you eyed your friend, liking the way the buzz lingered over your tongue, your head. "I bet this would be easier if I were gay,” you replied mournfully. 

Robin cooed, making a soft noise that definitely wasn’t a protest and she grinned. “You’d definitely be Nance and I’s third,” she poked at your cheek, smirked when you bit at it and rolled your eyes. 

----------

Robin left the apartment the next night with her good boots on, a smudge of blush on her cheeks and sad eyes. She stood at the door with her coat on, fussing with her bag as she tried for the twentieth time to wheedle you into going out with her. Guilt laced the small apartment, something that made your chest ache, but you tried not to let it show on your face.

“Are you sure you don’t wanna come out with us? It’s Saturday,” Robin coaxed, “we can all get dinner, some drinks, go dancing…”

“Robs, I’m not crashing your date night with your girlfriend,” you told her again. “Go. I’m fine.”

The girl frowned, checking her hair one last time in the mirror, ‘cause she’d tried to curl it and you’d heard her cursing from the bathroom. “You know my girlfriend,” she replied, as if that was enough of a reason for you to join them. “Nance won’t mind.”

You smiled, a little sad, although you tried hard to make your eyes match your lips. You gestured to the TV, the soft blanket you’d pulled from your bedroom, the new bottle of wine on the coffee table. “Go,” you repeated again, this time more sternly. “I’m good. I’m great, in fact. I’ve got all the good ones.” You pointed to the lineup of films on your Netflix list, each cover showing off a different type of Hollywood boy of the month. 

“Top Gun?” Robin snorted, “that’s not even the new one, babe.”

You sniffed, mildly offended. “Young Tom Cruise has a certain je ne sai quois, alright?” 

Robin held her hands up, giving in. She smiled and backed towards the door. “Whatever does it for you. I’ve got my keys, ‘kay? Don’t wait up.”

“I won’t,” you called back, already hitting play on the movie. “Have fun!”

It took two glasses of rosé before you grabbed your phone, face feeling flushed, lips chewed to bits after you sat through scene after scene of handsome men, your mind wandering, your fingers drawing absentminded circles over your stomach, hand underneath your t-shirt. You groaned under your breath as you typed some buzz words into Google, hoping for a website that didn’t sound too terrifying, one that didn’t conjure up images of finding the love of your life, or a husband, one that left out religious words, ones that sounded too cult-like.

You hit the fifth result and quickly made a profile, one eye screwed shut in fear as you uploaded a photo, entering all the details they tried to glean from you, making it as vague as you possibly could. You hit submit, stared wide eyed at the loading screen and then within a blink, your own picture was staring back at you, one Robin had taken last year when you had very much been in a relationship. You were alone in it, in some corner of a party, the lights low, the shadows showing off the way your eyeshadow glittered, your lips a little glossy, your skirt short. 

You looked pretty, not too sweet, not too boring. 

Immediately, requests flooded in. Anonymous looking profiles with no photographs, empty descriptions and usernames like: ‘pu$$yworshipper69’ and ‘callmedaddy1982’.

You wrinkled your nose in disappointment, hitting delete on the messages that spammed your inbox, requests for feet pics, men wondering if you had more photos of your tits, bots that wanted to know if you were looking for love and, could you send your social security number?

Defeat was bitter on your tongue and you sighed, exiting out of your inbox only to be greeted with a new page that displayed singles in your area. One photo caught your interest, a boy with wild hair, kind brown eyes and a smile that seemed genuine. He wore a red shirt over a white tee, tanned in the setting sun, sitting on a beach and looking pretty. 

You clicked, the movie forgotten but the glass of wine lingering at your lips as you scrolled through his page, eyes flicking over details of his likes and dislikes, his age, his job. His name. 

Steve Harrington. Living in Hawkins, Indiana. You swallowed, wine glass left on the coffee table as you curled into the sofa and brought your phone closer to your nose. He had more photos in his gallery, all seemingly taken by someone else instead of the usual topless selfies that had bombard you at first. 

The boy and some other people - friends, you assumed - swimming in a lake in the sun, smiles brighter than the sky. Steve outside, sunglasses covering his eyes and dressed in an old faded band tee. He looked like he’d smell nice, like he’d give good hugs. Another, the last one, where the boy was shirtless. But someone else had taken it as he stood at the edge of a lake again, smiling like he’d been caught off guard. 

You hit the button at the top of his profile, the one that said: “send a message.”

A new page popped up, a little chat box that was intimidatingly empty and you stilled, staring at it. What did you say? How did you begin?

‘Hey, I’ve looked at precisely five photos of you and I know you work at some video store and I think you’re hot. Wanna have sex?’

You cringed, eyes squeezing shut as you quickly deleted the words, groaning at the empty space once more. You remembered what Robin had said, about how wanting to hook up with someone was okay. Loads of people did it. It was fine. 

It was fine. 

@INDIANAGIRL: Hey, how’s it going?

The response took a minute or two, but the wait was agonising, time stretching too slow. A speech bubble appeared on the screen, a sign that pretty boy was replying. 

@HARRINGTON98: hi.. i can't lie, it's going a lot better now. you're really pretty. you sure you clicked on the right profile?

You snorted, trying to remain unaffected by the harmless flirting. But a smile pulled at your lips and you pushed yourself further into the cushions, knees bent and phone resting close. You took a breath and typed back. 

@INDIANAGIRL: Ooh, self deprecating and daddy issues? You’re lucky you’re cute.

You stilled, letting out a groan that you smothered with a pillow after you hit send, ‘cause you were never this forward and it made your insides curl around each other, your heart beat too fast for you to keep up with it. 

There was a pause before his reply and you breathed out a sigh of relief at the little bubble of text.

@HARRINGTON98: haha, what can I say, I’m a catch. honoured to know that you actually took the time to read my profile though. 

@HARRINGTON98: so, apart from your friends and the bottle of wine persuading you, what’re you doing on this on a saturday night?

You smiled, knowing he’d taken the time to read through your page too, as short as your answers were. You tucked your bottom lip between your teeth, nails tapping on your phone screen as you tried to think of the best way to reply. 

@INDIANAGIRL: Like you said, it’s a Saturday night. I’m definitely not here looking for love, if that answers your question. But I’m free, if you are?

You held your breath, waiting, eyes wide as the bubble appeared again, three dots dancing across your screen. It stopped, disappeared and started again. 

@HARRINGTON98: cool. do you wanna get drinks or something? 

@HARRINGTON98: it’s no pressure if you don’t. i’ve never done this before? can you tell? but we could hang out. if you wanted. 

You smiled when the second message came through almost immediately after the first. The boy’s obvious nerves settled your own and there was a sense of familiarity in his words, his ramblings. 

It made you feel bolder. 

You typed quickly, as if tapping out the letters faster made it easier to send. You looked around your shared apartment, at Robin’s half open bedroom door. She’d be back in a few hours, maybe less, with Nancy in tow and they’d take up residence on the sofa, Netflix on and another bottle of wine opened. 

@INDIANAGIRL: Neither have I but, we could skip the bar? Maybe hang at yours. 

Oh my god, you thought to yourself. I’m going to get murdered. This is how people end up murdered. Karen and Georgia would be so disappointed. And then:

@HARRINGTON98: 82 rowan street, BLDG A, unit 26

@INDIANAGIRL: Wow, you’re eager. 

@HARRINGTON98: like I said, you’re really fucking pretty

Your heart thundered. 

@INDIANAGIRL: Wait!

@INDIANAGIRL: Can we FaceTime or something? Before? 

@INDIANAGIRL: So I know you’re not a murderer. Or 80. Or both. 

You panicked then, realising what was happening, eyes scanning over the address this Steve Harrington had sent. It wasn’t too far from you, a subway ride out of the city and maybe a ten minute walk at best. You chewed your lip, cheeks burning as you scanned back through his photos. Cute smile, kind eyes, hair you wanted to pull on. 

Your phone buzzed and you swore. A cell number,  a smiley face.

“Oh god, oh god, oh god,” you chanted to yourself as you typed the digits into the FaceTime app, stopping with a curse when the front camera showed your wide eyes and couch mussed hair. 

You flung the phone onto the cushions, jumping up so you could straighten out your sweater, smoothing down the flyaway strands that stuck to your forehead. You caught sight of one of Robin’s lip balms on the table, swiped some over your lips and you dabbed a little on your cheeks for good measure. 

Taking a deep breath, you picked up the phone again and hit the call button. Maybe the boy was panicking too, maybe he’d backed out, maybe he was standing in front of a mirror as well, swiping hand through his hair and checking his shirt for stains ‘cause it rang and rang and rang. 

Then, he picked up. Fuck. 

@Harrington98 wasn’t eighty years old. In fact, he looked exactly like his photos. He was really pretty. Really, really pretty. Jesus Christ. 

Tanned skin, brown eyes, wild hair, freckles scattered across his cheeks and jawline, creeping down to disappear under his shirt. He had the nicest lips you’d seen on a boy, pink, soft looking, smiling at you. 

“Uh, hey!” The boy greeted brightly, “I'm here for the murder test? Have I passed?”

You grinned, laughing a little nervously as you tucked your hair behind your ear and cleared your throat. “I mean, I haven’t seen your place yet. Any red string boards on the walls? Black and white photos of the same person? Jars of body parts in the fridge?”

He laughed, a nice sound, soft and throaty and warm. “Nah, nah,” the boy shook his head, his smile playful, brows furrowed. “Not in the fridge. The freezer, however…”

You watched the screen as he trailed off, smiling still, looking soft and too handsome in a plain, white T-shirt. “So. I’m Steve. S’nice to meet you.” He lifted a hand, endearing and only a little awkward, waving at you through the phone. 

You waved back, fingers wiggling. “Hi,” you felt shy, nervous. Flustered. You told Steve your name, smiling when he repeated it, trying it out on his tongue and it sounded a lot nicer on his lips than yours. 

“So, this is my place,” Steve announced, spinning his phone around to show you the apartment. It looked loved in, boyish, some old movie posters on the walls in frames, a clock that was showing the wrong time, exposed brick and a big leather couch. “There’s no bodies to be seen, but that’s ‘cause they’re under the floorboards. Obviously.” He turned the camera back to himself, eyes glittering, smile full of trouble. 

“Obviously,” you agreed, grinning, ‘cause it was hard not to. Not when he looked like that. “So shall I, um, bring anything with me or?”

You didn’t know hookup etiquette. Did you bring beers? Condoms? Your own pillow? Would you stay? Would he want you to leave? What if you couldn’t get a train back into the city if he kicked you out at three am?

God, would he kick you out at three am?

Steve glanced down at his watch and smiled sheepishly. “Uh, well. It’s almost eleven at night so I’m gonna guess you’ve had dinner. But I have some buds in the fridge, if you like beer.”

He said it like a secret, like you were both still skirting around the edge of the truth. But he looked down the camera at you with the right amount of flirt and confidence that let you know that he knew what you both wanted out of tonight. 

It wasn’t dinner. It wasn’t a date. It was just sex. And that was okay with the both of you. 

You nodded, fingers skimming across your lip out of nerves, out of curiosity, staring at the boy’s own mouth and wondering if he’d be nice to kiss. He looked like he would. You’d not kissed someone new in so long. 

Years. 

Fuck. 

“Okay, yeah, great!” You said it too brightly and you winced. “I’ll uh, I’ll probably be there in like, half an hour?”

Steve smiled and nodded, told you to call him if you needed directions but you waved him off, noncommittal, too busy wondering if you needed to shave your legs and I’d you’d be able to find your last good pair of black underwear. 

This was the part of the bad rom com movie where an early 2000’s pop punk song would play over a montage of you tearing the apartment apart as you tried to get ready. But Blink 182 didn’t start playing and instead, you could only hear the sound of your heart thudding in your chest. 

So when you hung up the phone, you launched it onto the table, almost sliding past the bathroom door as you ran to it, shedding off your comfy clothes as you went. You took the worlds fastest shower, ran your razor over all the parts you declared not smooth enough and drowned yourself in peach scented body wash. 

Deciding what to wear was difficult, ‘cause dresses were easier to take off but it was below zero outside and you weren’t fucking around with tights and extra socks. So you stole a pair of Robin’s jeans, ankles tripping over the hem of them as you struggled to pull them on at the same time you yanked a brush through your hair. Some concealer, a smudge of blush, mascara, more lip balm and you grabbed your bag on the way to the door, keys and phone in hand as you texted the group chat. 

‘82 rowan street, BLDG A, unit 26. I’m about to get dicked down. I think. Don’t wait up. But call the cops if I’m not home in the morning. Do I bring a gift to a hook up?’

Your phone pinged once, twice, three times. 

#1 gay friend: ‘bitch, what the fuck?’

gay friend’s girlfriend: ‘Babe, no. No gifts. Be safe though. Do you know this guy? Do we know this guy? Share your location rn.’

eduardo: ‘GEDDIT’

You sighed but did as Nancy asked, not bothering with a real reply but sending the link to find your iPhone. Your hands shook as you swiped your metro card and you weren’t sure if it was from the cold or nerves. Did you spray perfume? You couldn’t remember. But you were wearing your best bra, the one that made your tits sit up pretty but god, the wire was pressing into your ribs. 

And when you got out into the streets, out of the city where it was quieter and the sky held more stars, you revelled in the cold and the silence of it all. The world seemed lighter, a little rosy, in that way that only snow in the night could mean but the roads were still clear and the threat of it seemed weak. 

Still, you hurried, arms crossed to your chest, chin tucked into your coat as you followed the directions your phone gave you, Steve’s address a bright red pin on the map, a neon beacon, a big, fat booty call. 

His building came into view after a walk through a quiet Main Street, past the line of spruce trees and locked up businesses, a sweet town hall, a trailer park that vibrated with the hum of generators. The roads led you away from the middle of Hawkins, the map telling you which left and which right until an apartment block rose up between the parks and cafes, new looking and with shiny buzzers at the front door. 

You wondered if you should text him. You wondered if you should go home. You blew out a breath, a shaky one, watched how it lingered and  froze in the air in front of you and before you could stop yourself, your finger was pressing the button for number twenty six. 

--------

Steve Harrington’s apartment door had an alarm. It was loud and shrill and incessant - and it completely ruined your escape plan. 

There was a quiet countdown as you wrestled with the front door lock, keys jingling, chain clinking and then a beepbeepbeep begun, counting down like a ticking time bomb until it blared through the rest of the apartment. You’d managed to make it back into the bed in time, just as Steve jerked awake, shirtless and messy haired. 

“Wha—?” He grabbed a bat from the side of his bed and stumbled out the bedroom door, still half asleep. And when he seemed confident no one was breaking in, he dropped the bat and fell back into the bed with a soft thwack as his face hit the pillow. “Mornin’.”

You startled, still on edge, ‘cause the night before was… fine, but you hadn’t meant to stay the night. That wasn’t the plan, that wasn’t the idea. You were lying with your coat on, wide eyed with the duvet up to your chin and you yawned, all over exaggerated drama as you stretched out. 

“Oh, good morning,” your voice was too quiet. You felt nervous all over again. “Did your alarm go off? Weird. Well, I guess I should head home.”

You were already out of bed before you’d finished talking and Steve sat up, eyebrow quirked as he took in the way you were already fully dressed, searching for your shoes. 

“Did you sleep with your jacket on?” 

“I got cold,” you lied.

He snorted, easing himself back into the sheets and he watched you with careful eyes. Steve was just as pretty in the morning as he was in the dark. “Right. Do you always leave your hookups this quick?”

You turned, frowning at the obvious amusement in his voice. “I told you last night,” you reminded him. “I haven’t done this before.” The reminder of your lack of experience made your skin itch, heat flushing over your chest. 

The sex had been okay. Nice. It was good. Nothing mind blowing, but who was expecting that from a stranger they just met? And yeah, maybe you had to fake it, ‘cause you’d been on the edge of coming so many times that eventually it refused to return. Steve had spilled into a condom, tied it off and chucked in the trash and fallen asleep before you’d come back from peeing. 

Maybe you just weren’t cut out for one night stands. Maybe that was the problem. 

Steve laughed again and it wasn’t unkind, but it still set your teeth on edge. You shoved your foot into your boot and straightened up, staring at him. “What?” He laughed again, “c’mon, you’re fully dressed and tryin’ to sneak out my apartment before it’s even time to have breakfast. You have your escape plan down pat, I respect that.”

Again, you bristled. “Um, no, I clearly don’t,” you huffed out a laugh but there wasn’t any humour in it. You gestured to the front door down the hall, still closed and locked. “I told you. This is my first time doing— this.” You saved vaguely at him and the bed. 

Steve sighed and got out of bed, a small smile playing on his lips that were still a little swollen and red from where you’d bit and kissed them the night before. He pulled on a shirt, shrugged and padded barefoot to the hallway. 

“Listen, s’nothin’ to be ashamed of,” he drawled, leading you to the front door where he punched in the code to switch off the alarm. “Girls get horny too, everyone has needs. I, for one, have absolutely no problem with a girl that knows what she wants and if that’s all you’re after then—”

“Oh my god,” you scoffed at him, lips parted, eyes wide. Suddenly escaping the apartment wasn’t as high on your list of concerns as before. “You’re totally slut shaming me!”

Steve looked at you, bewildered, face scrunched up. “What? No I’m not!”

“You are!”

“No, I’m not!” He shot back. His hand left the chain on the door, your departure forgotten about. “I’m jus’ sayin’, that it’s totally okay for you to, you know, wanna get your rocks off.”

You spluttered, incredulous. “Okay, one: rocks off? What is this, 1986? And two, I know it’s okay for me to wanna have sex with a complete stranger! I don’t need a man to confirm that for me.”

The boy stared, lips parted and a look of genuine confusion overtaking his pretty features. He grimaced and then waved a hand at you, an unfortunately dismissive gesture that had your back up even further. You set your shoulders. 

“No, no, look,” he explained. “You’re taking this the totally wrong way.”

“Oh I am?” You grinned, sharklike, edging closer for a fight. He still smelled like last night's cologne, like your perfume and sex. “Want to tell me how I should be taking it? Wanna explain it to me?”

Steve narrowed his eyes, lips lifting, a sardonic kind of smile that made your heart race too fast. “That feels like a trap.”

“Wow, ten points for the smart guy,” you snarked. “If only you were as patient as you were clever.” You jostled around him, a hand on the door. 

“What does that mean?” Steve snapped, the door clicking shut as he leaned his weight onto it, too close to you, staring down as you gazed up, chin lifted, still defiant. “Patient about what?”

You laughed, humourless and mean, ‘cause you just wanted to go home. You raised your brows, still giving the handle a jiggle despite the way Steve blocked your exit, frowning. “Yeah, okay jackhammer,” you grinned, “maybe give a girl some time to try and come before you seal the deal and pass out.”

Steve gaped at you, offended and full of shock, and you felt a little bit guilty. Sure, you hadn’t come, but only ‘cause of a timing issue, not a skill issue. But still— 

“Yeah? You wanna play it like that?” Steve shot back, pushing off of the door so he could stomp into the kitchen. He rattled in his cupboards, pulling out a coffee mug that he slammed on the worktop. “What about you? Huh? Lights off, shedding all your clothes like a damn snake person and like, what’s with the whole—” he made a lewd motion with his fingers, mimicking rubbing at the air. “Way to make a guy feel benched, sweetheart. Got me fumblin’ around in the dark like a damn blind pig.”

You scoffed, eyes narrowing to slits, the door forgotten - again. 

“Yeah, well, points for enthusiasm pig boy, maybe next time you’ll find some truffles.”

“Oh, fuck you, man.”

“Fuck you too!” You said it cheerily, despite the anger that made your throat and cheeks feel too hot, the sneer that was on your lips. “It was so nice to meet you Harrington98!” And with that, you left, door slamming shut so hard your hand vibrated, and something on Steve’s kitchen wall fell to the floor. 

You heard him swear and you smiled, the most satisfied you’d felt. 

The stairwell was freezing as you stomped down it, more frigid than the night before. All you could think about was your own bed, that didn’t smell like a pretty boy with a bad attitude, where your sheets were softer and you could watch reruns of Schitt’s Creek until you forgot Steve Harrington’s name. You were never doing this again. In fact, you were deleting the damn app. 

You scowled, rooting around your handbag for your phone, huffing when your screen stayed back, no matter how many times you tapped angrily at it. You could only imagine the texts and missed calls that would be waiting on it for you, the shrieks that would greet you when you finally got home. You hoped Nancy had made waffles. Or pancakes - Nancy made good pancakes. 

And as you were trapped in a daydream about strawberries mixed in sugar, maple syrup and cream, you shoved your shoulder mindlessly against the front door of the apartment block, wincing when it didn’t give under your weight. You frowned, trying again, both hands shoving at the wood. It budged, just a little, leaving enough of a gap for you to see the whiteout that was on the other side of it. 

You made a sound of indignation, shock making your mouth fall open and you peered out through the gap. 

No. No, no, no, no. 

Snow crept up the door like an icy landslide, covering almost half of it, the rest of the parking lot covered in what you deemed to be a couple of feet of snow. Cars were half hidden and the sky was white, blending into the ground, a blank landscape that was just barely broken up by the still falling snow. The flakes were thick and heavy, dropping down over the town with an urgency rhat told you this wasn’t letting up anytime soon. 

Fuck. 

“—dude, I’m telling you, it was like falling asleep next to a princess and waking up to a raging dragon. She was like stupid hot and all, but then she started yelling at me? And I don’t know what I’d apparently done but… Jonathan, I’m gonna have to call you back.”

Steve stood at the bottom of the stairs, looking handsome and awfully guilty as he pulled his phone from his ear and ended the call he was on. He cleared his throat and tried to avoid the narrow eyed stare you were sending him, clutching the basket of dirty clothes he was seemingly talking to the laundry room. 

“You’re still here,” he noted and his voice was overly casual. “Interesting.”

“I can’t leave,” you replied, sounding as frosty as the weather outside. “Snowstorm. Can’t get the door open.”

“What?” Steve scoffed and shoved the basket into your hands. You tutted, moving out of his way when he jostled into your space. “You’re just not doing it right.”

You made a face, disgruntled and tried not to stare at the way the boy’s arms flexed with muscle when he strained at the door. You huffed out a laugh, smug, when it still didn’t move. 

“What was that?” You smirked, more haughty that you would like to admit. “You’re not doing it right, Steve.”

The boy smiled sarcastically, narrowed eyes and annoyance on his features. He took his basket from you and tutted. “Well. Good luck.” And then he walked away. 

“You’re kidding me?!” You were almost yelling, the sound making the boy stop and turn. “You’re not just gonna leave me here, it’s like the North Pole out there, I could be here for days.”

“That seems dramatic.” Steve walked back to you, too close, his laundry basket pressed between you. He made a show of thinking it over, lips twisted, humming. “So, what? You wanna come back to mine, is that it?”

You glared at him. “Unless you want me to sit in the freezing cold hall, I don’t have any other choice.”

“You called me pig boy,” he reminded you. He was smiling. He was enjoying this. “Among other names. You’re mean, sweetheart. Why should I help you?”

You resisted the urge to smack at his shoulder, bringing your hands to your lips in a prayer position as you took a deep breath and counted to three. Smiling - albeit tightly - you took your time to also remind him: “you were literally inside of me six hours ago.”

So you found yourself back in Steve’s apartment, grudgingly, and with nowhere else to go. You rolled your eyes when he brushed past you as you stood by the door, aimless and wishing you could be anywhere else. You showed him your phone with it’s blank screen. 

“You got a charger?”

Steve pointed to a cable that was plugged in by the couch and he ignored you as you moved through the living room. He clicked on the TV, groaning when he landed on the news and saw live footage of the city, the streets covered in marshmallow soft looking snow, untouched, ‘cause nobody could get out of their damn home. The train lines were empty, the streets deserted, and the local weatherman Richard Raines was standing in a blizzard, yelling at the camera. 

“Well, folks, I hope you’ve got enough food and someone to keep you warm at night, because this snowstorm isn’t done yet!”

Steve groaned at the same time you did. 

“We’ve got more arctic winds pushing in from the east and we’re expecting more snow over the coming days. Stay home, stay safe and keep warm! We’ll do our best to update you as more news comes in from across the State. I’m Richard Raines, live from Indi—”

The TV screen blinked and blacked out as Steve chucked the remote on the couch, letting himself slump down after it. Still, you stood, coat and shoes still on, bag still over your shoulder like you had somewhere to be. 

“Make yourself at home, I guess,” Steve muttered, waving a hand at the armchair across from him. “Fuck knows when you’ll get to go your own.”

Hell. You were in hell. 

“Okay. Right. I guess… shit.” You fell down onto the armchair, head in your hands and bag clattering to the floor by your feet. Your phone was still dead, charging slowly. “I need to tell my friend where I am. She’ll be worried.” You chewed at your lip and imagined Robin, pacing the apartment, calling your cell and yelling at the voicemail.

“About the possibility of you being murdered? Or will she be devastated to know her bestie had bad sex?”

You scowled at the boy’s surly tone, hating that he still looked good as he said it. Sprawled out on his sofa, legs spread, cotton sweats low, his T-shirt covering broad shoulders and strong arms. His hair was still a riot, deliciously so and now that he’d opened his blinds, you could see the faint purple mark you must’ve sucked onto his neck. You flushed. 

“I didn’t say it was bad,” you grumbled. “Just— shut up. If we’re going to be trapped in here, can we at least agree to pretend we didn’t sleep together? For sanity’s sake?”

Steve sighed, his expression unreadable, and he stood. Chucking his phone into your lap, you watched his face soften, if only just. “Sure we can, sweetheart. Call your friend, tell her you're safe.” And then he walked into the kitchen. 

The next few hours went by in relative silence, the buzz of the TV, the whirr of Steve’s coffee machine, the two of you sitting on either end of his sofa. You’d given in and taken off your shoes and jacket after calling Robin, the girl only quietening down after she yelled about how she’d planned your funeral, her words cutting off into a hush when she realised you were still at your hook-ups house. 

“Is he hot? Was the sex mind blowing? Oh my god, this is like, insane! Are you gonna have sex all day?”

You cut off her rambling with a noise of desperation, wary of Steve nearby. You promised you’d text her when your phone came to life, that you’d fill her in on the details when you got yourself home. 

By noon, Steve asked if you were hungry, his voice a little hoarse from pointedly not speaking to you and you nodded, feeling awkward when he went to the kitchen and started clattering around. So you sheepishly followed, taking up residence on a stool at the breakfast bar. He opened his fridge and you both cringed at the lack of contents inside. 

“D’you like ramen?” He asked instead, closing the door and heading for the cupboards instead. Steve pulled out two packets of instant noodles and shook them enticingly. 

“I do,” you answered, sounding way too polite and proper, but you were starting to feel increasingly guilty about your anxiety led argument that morning. “Thank you,” you added. 

He smiled and it seemed less forced than before. “S’not like I’m gonna let you starve.”

“I wouldn’t have blamed you if you did,” you replied quietly, and you met his gaze a little reluctantly. “I was kind of a bitch.”

Steve snorted but it wasn’t as mean as his laughter earlier. He dumped the noodles in a pot and winced when the hot water bubbles angrily at him. “Kind of?”

“I was a bitch,” you confirmed, nodding with pursed lips. “I shouldn’t have—”

“Look, I wasn’t exactly nice either,” Steve waved off whatever words you were going to say next. “I’m grumpy as fuck in the morning. And stupid, like, most of the time. I didn’t mean to imply that you were—” 

He gestured vaguely, the words dying on his lips, ‘cause he was more awake now to know not to say it again. 

“Slutty?” You said for him and Steve groaned before he realised you were grinning. 

“No! No, yeah, well, fuck,” he laughed, self depreciating and low. “You’re not a slut. But if you are, good for you! You know? And I guess that would make me a slut too… so, shit, cheers to that.” He slid your bowl of noodles, hot and spicy smelling and he grinned when you clicked the offered chopsticks against his own. 

“Cheers to that,” you agreed and it felt a little like a truce. 

————

Five hours later the snow was still falling and the sky had turned back into that dark pink-red that could only mean more to come. Steve had played through too many levels of Crash Bandicoot to count, laughing and throwing half hearted tips at you, because you were clearly a lost cause when it came to video games. 

Switching from his Xbox back to the TV, you were both unsurprised to find Richard Raines back in front of Indianapolis City Hall, red nosed and standing in a flurry of white. 

“Bunker down folks! This storm is here for the night! With another sixteen inches expected by eleven o’clock, we can all—”

The TV blanked out, Richard Raines cut off once again mid speech and Steve let his head fall back onto the couch cushions. There wasn’t much room between you both now, not nearly as much as there had been early in the afternoon and as you looked over at him, you were reminded of why you hooked up with him in the first place. 

God, he was stupidly pretty. 

He huffed out a tired sigh and pushed the gaming controller to the side, blinking before turning to look over at you, cheek pressed to the couch cushions. Steve was all floppy hair and honeyed eyes, five o’clock shadow and sharp cheekbones, a sharper jaw. 

You regretted not kissing him more when you had the chance. 

“Hey,” he murmured. “Wanna get high?”

....

[rottenimagines]

Sweet Temptation

Summary: Just Negan trying to seduce you into helping him get out of his cell.

(Little disclaimer: English is not my native language, but I try my best, I promise x.)  

.

.

You've been secretly visiting Negan for several nights.

 In daylight, you act like another ordinary member of Alexandria, while at night, you betray your own people by sneaking into the infamous killer's cell to help him by bringing him food, or just keeping him company.

.

.

As soon as Negan sees that it's you who’s coming down the stairs, he stands up and walks over to the bars of his cell to greet you.

‘‘What do you have for me tonight, darling?’’ He tries to speak in his trademark flirtatious tone, but it's obvious he's defeated inside.

You hand him a sandwich wrapped in napkins through the bars.

 He notices how your eyes light up as soon as you see him; just by feeling him close. My ticket to freedom, he thinks.

‘‘Thank you, honey. I’m starved tonight.’’ He takes the sandwich and unwraps it.

 ‘‘Mmmm. You're such a sweet, helpful girl, aren't you?’’ He winks at you as he takes the first bite.

You lean against the wall to watch him eat in silence. He looks tired and thinner. His physical appearance is beginning to decay. This Negan is only a shadow of his former self.

‘‘So... how you doin', Negan?’’

He sighs heavily and rubs his forehead.

‘‘I feel like I'm going insane. I just want to feel the sun against my face again, y’know?’’

He looks deep into your eyes, giving you the puppy dog eyes.

‘‘I'm tired of these bars. I'm tired of this cage. I want to be out in the world again. Just you and me, darling. Just you and me.’’

A chill runs down your spine when you hear his sweet words. 

You approach the cell again and grab the bars with both hands. You look him up and down.

‘‘You look... tired.’’

He nods while still chewing.

‘‘I am, I am. They don't give me enough to eat. They treat me like I'm some rabid dog.  I'm going crazy in here.’’  He puts his face right up to the bars, getting very close to you. ‘‘I need to be freed. I really need your help, Y/n.’’

You can feel his warm breath on your face. You're deeply attracted to him, but still you’re not stupid; you can't help but distrust him. He has done terrible things to your people after all.

‘‘Look, I know you're hesitant. You have every right to be. I wouldn't trust me either. But you and I, doll... we have something special... We understand each other.’’ 

He gently brushes a loose hair out of you face. ‘‘This cell is killing me...’’

‘‘Negan... you know I can't do it.’’

He exhales in defeat and pulls back a bit.

‘‘Well... I had to try.’’ He shrugs and continues eating the rest of his sandwich.

After several minutes of awkward silence, he starts talking again:

‘‘So, you like coming down here to visit me, huh? What if Rick and the others found out you're here?’’

Your body tenses just thinking about it. He laughs at your reaction, at the sudden fear all over your face. 

‘‘It's our little secret, ain't it?’’ He gives you a quick wink as he finishes his sandwich.

A mischievous little smirk curves your lips.

 ‘‘Exactly. This is our little secret. I hope you don't forget.’’

You put your hand through the bars and he hands you back the napkin. Then he continues talking with his usual charming tone:

‘‘You really enjoy these "secret" visits, don’t you? You enjoy visiting the big bad Negan in his cage.’’ He smirks as you grab the napkin from his hand.

‘‘I’m just a good samaritan doing her good deed for the day.’’ You answer him, mimicking his seductive tone.

His eyes sparkle with mischief as he looks at you intently.

‘‘Samaritan? No. You are much, much more than a samaritan, my dear, sweet friend.’’

He leans over the bars and kisses the tips of his fingers before touching your cheek with them. You enjoy deeply the touch of his fingers on your soft skin, even if it's only through the bars.

He looks down at you with a sly smile. ‘‘I think you actually like a little too much these secret meetings with the big, bad man, all alone.’’

You bring your face closer to his, losing yourself into his dark hazel eyes. His face just a few inches from yours.

‘‘Maybe I do.’’

‘‘Maybe you do, huh? And if I told you I know a way to make these secret meetings a little more... interesting?’’ He whispers, looking down at your lips.

Your eyes, full of desire for that man, drift down toward his lips and then back up to meet his piercing eyes.

‘‘Oh, really? Enlighten me, then. Please.’’

‘‘How about this...’’ He looks at your lips again and leans a little closer. ‘‘...a little less talking. A little more kissing...’’

Your heart beats as someone who knows they are doing something forbidden, something absolutely illegal. But you just can’t deny him.

You take a quick look over your shoulder to make sure no one else is there. And then, you turn to him to press your lips against his, for the first time.

He closes his eyes and kisses you back with passion. You can feel his tongue slide between your lips as he moves his hand around the back of your neck to bring you closer; as close as the bars allow you to be.

Afterwards, he slowly pulls away and looks at you, breathing heavily. His sly smile grows bigger as he leans into you and whispers in a deep, sultry tone:

‘‘Wow, baby. You really are a naughty girl, aren't ya?’’

[mystycalypso]

Return to Ravenbrooks: Biography

Entry 1

Name: Trinity Bales

Date of birth: 1996

Gender: F

Current Address: [REDACTED]

Height: 5'8

Hair color: Black

Eye color: Purple

Key Features: Messy bun, Blue mascara, light pink lip gloss

Role: Leader

Abilities: Agility, Intelligence, Craftiness, Quick Thinker, Good Liar, Charisma

Occupation: Student

Status: Fair

Biography:

The old Peterson house had long since been torn down ever since Mr. Peterson had been arrested. Left to rot without an occupant, it was condemned and eventually, bulldozed. Good riddance, I'd said at the time, but it looked like someone was finally doing something with the property. There weren't many new people coming anymore, given how the story of a serial kidnapper spread like wildfire. Not even the bars of a cell could keep those rumors from permeating. But, after many long years, there was finally a new neighbor, and, clearly, they were bold, too. Or more likely, they didn't know the full extent of what happened in that old house, and part of me was thankful, but I knew they'd face some less-than-favorable attention for doing so, to say the least.

I didn't have to wait very long to see who was moving in. A newer-looking red car rolled up on the curb as the construction team worked, and out stepped a man with short brunette hair, fuzzy on top with an undercut, dressed in a warm pink polo and teal-striped shorts. It made me double-take.

I'd heard from Nicky what he looked like. I'd even seen his pictures. But- this couldn't be him. No, It was a coincidence. There was no way he'd even be wearing the same outfit anyway.

I caught myself staring as the man turned his head to look at our house.

Surely not. Never in a million years it could be him. Not after what happened. He'd been gone so long that he was already presumed dead, with no body found.

...

I peeked through the window again.

He was talking with the construction crew.

He was holding the blueprints, too.

... An architect?

...

I moved away from the window, grabbing his shoulder to shake him awake. He groaned tiredly but slowly pulled the old leather bag off his head.

"... Nicky? You need to come look at this"

"...what? What is it?" He yawned

I chewed my lip for a moment. "Well. We have a new neighbor..."

[lemon-russ]

Part 2 of my stupid Cato fic. The fleas take me, but in a boring way, because no sex here either. apparently I just need him to call me names.

This one is from fem readers POV.

Part 2/ ???

part:: 1 :: 2 :: 3 :: 4 :: 5 :: 6 :: 7

Cato Sicarius x F!Reader

CW: Violence, blood, no sex yet but there will be later, Cato being a bully (mildly honestly)

Summary: The ambassador sits in horny jail and Cato is forced to actually do his job.

word count: 1,651

You were pushed onto the floor. Still blindfolded, you felt hard stone under your knees as you fell to them, and heard the squeak of a cell door close behind you. “You’re staying here until we get conformation that your crazy government is backing off.” a soldier said.

Well, today wasn’t going well. And stupid Cato couldn’t do his one job, apparently. You used your shoulder to wiggled the blindfold off your face, mind racing of what you should do now. You did not have any faith your good for nothing bodyguard was actually going to come get you. Though he did stand up for you when you were kicked at least. That was… unexpected. But best not to assume lightning will strike twice and give Cato Sicarius a second instance of empathy, you had to get out of here.

You inspect the cell. Stone on 3 sides, jail bars on the other. Damn, this planet really has nothing but rocks and time to build everything out of stone. You test your cuffs- they feel sturdy, no getting out of them quick. Thinking on all your emergency prep training, you start going through scenarios that could help. No escape points besides the jail bars, no way to break your cuffs or call for help. That leaves endearing yourself to the guards. You can handle that, you hope, your whole job is to endear yourself to people to make them do things for you.

Usually those people don’t see you as the embodiment of a tyrannical coup on their planet, but, you can try at least. The guards stand watch from across the small cell room, scowling at you, weapons drawn. That does not bode well for your chances of befriending them. You take a deep breath, and put on your most harmless, pathetic pout.

“I don’t understand, I thought things were going so well…” You say in your softest voice to them. If they find you cute, maybe they won’t shoot you as fast. People don’t like to shoot cute things. You scoot over to the bars, giving them sad eyes. “What did I do…? Did I offend Chancellor Rolfar…?” You ask sadly.

The guards scowl more. Fuck, maybe this culture sees weakness as annoying and not endearing? You should have researched more on it, but they are so new and you were sure you had the handover in the bag… You sigh, and lean against the bars. One of the guards huffs, walks over, and pushes you back from the bars with a hard push of his foot, knocking you back with a squeak of surprise. “Hey-!” you snap, but he interrupts. “Off the bars, prisoner. No funny business. If we think you’re trying to escape, we’ll shoot you. We don’t need you for the rebellion, you’re just collateral.” he growls out before moving back to his post.

Grumbling and struggling to sit back up with your bound hands, you huff some hair out of your face, glowering at the man who kicked you. Why did Lord Guilliman have to send you with Captain Sicarius of all people? The one person in the galaxy who would side with their enemies in the camp of I don’t actually need you alive, it just would make my life easier for a minute. Sure, Guilliman would chew him out, maybe put him on punitive duties for a while, but in the end nothing would actually happen to Cato if you die here. It was out of his hands, really, even though he was too busy bullying you to pay attention and then he let you walk into a trap.

You scoot back against the stone wall. With nothing to do but think, your mind replays the events that got you here. You were just explaining the supply routes that would be set up when suddenly Cato knocked you to the floor. Before you understood what was happening, he was above you, shielding you with his body and shooting attackers. By the throne, you’d be lying if you said that image didn’t do something for you. Of course, he’s an asshole. But you can’t get that picture out of your head, staring up at him from the floor, him kneeling and curling around you, face a mask of protective rage. You shake your head- no, stop that, don’t get flustered over a man who almost certainly is about to leave you to die here.

He’s probably already on the thunderhawk home, going to apologize to Lord Guilliman about losing his favorite ambassador, oh but don’t worry, he’ll find a better one in a week to replace her, he’ll assure the Primarch. Meanwhile you’ll be rotting here or worse, rotting in the ground. You shudder as the dire nature of the situation sinks in.

Maybe you should go back to thinking about Cato being weirdly protective. OK, you guess it’s not weird, it is his job, and he sucks at it. Which is why it was weird he didn’t just try and handle it with exasperation like normal. No, it was weird. He snapped at that guy who kicked you, and then got you thrown in here because he lost his temper on Chancellor Rolfar. You assume that’s what happened, you were blindfolded, but you got kicked hard, and suddenly people were telling Cato to put the Chancellor down. Your heart felt a little fluttery at the thought of Cato Sicarius of all people being protective of you more than as a job. But like, it was his job. And he was shit at it. So maybe you should deduct some points.

After a while of contemplating, mind bouncing harshly back and forth between mortal dread and maybe Cato is a little hot sometimes but still an ass, you hear a soft creak of the door into the jail. You glance over, and suddenly the guards are screaming, flashes of red and cobalt blue blurring in front of you. You barely even have time to be surprised when a ceramite boot is breaking in your cell door and you’re being carried out like a bag of flour under a large arm.

“You really fuck things up for me, you know that?” Cato says, voice dripping disdain that didn’t quite fit the fact that he was rescuing you. You frown and look up at him. “What- fuck things up for you? you had one job! Keep me alive and un-kidnapped, yet here we are!” You snap. He looks down at you, expression hidden behind his helmet, and then he just drops you flat on the ground.

The air is knocked out of you, sight going white a moment as you hit the stone- this was like the fourth time today, your elbows and knees are going to be wrecked- and before you can process, he is standing over you and yelling. “I’m not a babysitter! I shouldn’t even be here! And because you have no sense, and are so pathetic and soft, I couldn’t get us out without bullets tearing up your fleshy little body- so yes, you are making things very difficult.” He scolds as you sit up, a bit dazed. He taps his helmet. “Ever seen one of these? Why do you go to unknown places unarmored? Not even a flack jacket or helmet? By the holy throne you’re useless-” he goes on.

Without stopping his tirade against your character, clothing choices, intelligence and for some reason your lack of natural bullet-proofing, he picks you back up and carries you like a disobedient child under his arm again. You frown, deeply confused, but happy to not be dying in a cell. You blink a few times, realizing what was happening.

“You actually came for me?” you say in a puzzled tone, looking up at him with a frown. He stops mid word in his beratement, looking at you. “What? Of course I did, it’s my job. What on holy Terra are you talking about, you daft woman?” He snaps back. You look up at his expressionless helmet, then smile a little. “huh.” you say, smiling to yourself and looking back down as he carries you. He scoffs. “What do you mean huh? Did those soldiers finally knock your last brain cell out of your ear you insufferable creature?” He huffs as he kicks open a door and carries you outside.

You shrug. “Just, surprised you came. Maybe you don’t suck as much at your job as I thought.” You say casually. He grumbles, moving you to sit on and arm, holding you upright so he can jog across the rocky dry soil. He pulls off his helmet specifically so he can scowl at you. “What the hell are you on about now? I’m The Cato Sicarius. I don’t suck at anything.” He grumbles, seeming genuinely upset at the implication that he wasn’t perfect. “And Lord Guilliman would have my ass if I just left you. I’m the ultramarine's finest, I don’t disrespect my genefather’s orders so blatantly.” He says almost defensively.

You smile a bit more, looking up at him as he carries you and runs. “Hm.” you say in the same casual tone. He rolls his eyes, mumbling about emperor damned women always talking in riddles as he carries you aboard the thunderhawk and unceremoniously drops you in a seat. You watch as he voxes to the small crew that they needed to go right now. You sit back, rubbing your absolutely demolished elbows, and let your mind wander back to that image of him curled protectively over you. Maybe not as much an asshole, you think, letting a small smile cross your face as you glance over at him. He gives you a dirty look, shaking his head like what are you looking at me for?? Okay, Still definitely an ass, but, maybe a little less of one than you initially thought.

[fanaticsnail]

My take on Shameless Part 1:

Reader, finally being convinced to give up her type: I want a visible outline in the pants. I want "swinging between their knees" big. You know the minotaur? Picture that. Then picture someone that makes the minotaur feel inadequate. Then picture that someone looking at you like a crab to split open and suck the meat out of. Then picture me, as a crab-

The crew: (varying states of horror)

Reader: **** in my ******, tickling my diaphragm, upside down-

Law: (considering a lobotomy)

Reader: *** dripping from his teeth, ***** spread open, *****-

Ikkaku, to the Kid Pirates: look out! I think Moto Moto likes you!

Reader, "I like'em big, I like 'em chunky" playing in the background: Shachi did I ever tell you I invented and held the title of mechanical bull riding champion for four consecutive years on my home island?

Shachi, terrified: What's happening? Where is that music coming from?

Reader: but you know what they say, save a mechanical bull-

Shachi: Seriously, am I the only one hearing this?

Reader: hellooooo sailor-

Law: aht! Down girl.

Reader: What?! You don't get to-

Law: Do you want to be grounded for the next thirty days?

Reader: you're not my dad!-

Law: with the collective amount of brain cells you lot share between you? I might as well be.

Reader: He could be my-

Law: Room.

Reader: Wait! Please-

Law: Shambles

Reader, from below deck: Your galley can't hold me forever! I will chew my way through these bars!

Reader: Him. He's my type

Bepo, looking at the hulking unit of a man known for violence warily: ... In what way, exactly?

Reader: any way he'll have me. Although I do have a penchant for all fours.

Kid, noticing the talking: OI! You lot quit yer yappin'! What are you, a dog?

Reader: For you? I'd be happy drooling, leashed, and on all fours.

Kid: what?

Reader: Woof.

Reader, hoping to bypass all laws of the One Piece universe to directly beam "Rodeo" by Lah Pat into Kid's head if she stares at him hard enough:

Shachi, bolting upright in his bunk: it's fucking happening again.

Reader, singing to the tune of Beyonce's "ego" under their breath as they work: walk like this 'cause he knows how to fuck

Shachi: what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck

Luffy, humming along: Oh, you hear it too?

Shachi: (screams)

Okay, this was so ridiculous I had to make a mood board so I could visualise it. This is hilarious. This is exactly what my mind did when reading your ask, snail, and I am here for it.

I am dying at Shachi's reactions to the music. That's way too funny. Luffy singing? Cherry on top.

Meanwhile, Captain Law's live reaction to his unruly crewmember:

And coming in hot with the song recs!? Hell yeah!!

I don't know what got into me with that three-parter. Something about Kid just said: "You know that guy? That guy needs to be rizzed. He needs to be rizzed so bad. I'm gonna have this afab!reader rizz him the hardest he's ever been rizzed."

You're always here when I need you, sweet snail. Thank you so much. So ridiculously funny, and just what I needed before I go to sleep.

[elkyralt]

thinking about @/ama-a93's art of q!Foosh getting to arrest q!Cellbit when him and q!Baghs are rescued (its incredible art holy shit) and it has me thinking about this immaculate AU.

Once stuck in that prison, q!Cellbit will feel that hollow despair masquerading as boiling vitriol, that loss of control and spiraling, the disconsolateness that he will be forced to chew over and over in his head. There's nothing but four white walls and the bars of his cell, the occasional shift in Federation guard that always tries to hide it's twitchiness as it stands just far enough out of his reach. q!Cellbit always always falls back on anger, yet now that the bitter blade of betrayal has struck him, he can't fully sink into that either - because that blade is made of truth. q!Cellbit's element is Knowledge; the balance and calm of logos. He aches and he hurts and he misses his family, but he understands q!Foolish and that tears him apart more than any act of justice ever could.

NOW THAT'S DEVASTATING ENOUGH, BUT NOW WE BRING Q!ROIER INTO THE PICTURE.

For the purposes of this I'd probably make this post-torture and Doied, so q!Roier is back to his depressed and hurting self.

He hears q!Cellbit is back from q!Bad, and the relief that crashes over him outlasts the burning resentment solidifying in his gut. Before he can run off, he's stopped again by q!Bad and told that q!Foolish, his dad, q!Foolish just arrested his husband. My fucking god q!Roier cannot catch a break. The betrayal of q!Spreen and q!Quackity still leaves it's traces to this day, and now his own father rips him open entirely anew. q!Roier chose Blood because he takes the intensity of emotion as his core and that overrides the calm logic of Knowledge. He's in despair, outrage, and all shades in between. I think he'd immediately jump to his husband's defence, especially seeing as this is post Fed torture and he has nothing good for the Federation in his books anymore. When he learned that his husband was the one to make the killings, he didn't care whatsoever. He's always been on q!Cellbit's side about this. His grief becomes dangerous, it becomes fuel, and q!Roier is no small fish when it comes to the PvP pond. A part of the Bloodhounds duo, he's not some player to overlook, Purgatory should have proven that.

He goes ballistic, and launches into breaking q!Cellbit out of prison after a day's planning, killing the workers that stand in his path because that's his q!Cellbo. q!Foolish wouldn't be in office that day, and as q!Roier drags q!Cellbit out of the prison back into the comfort of their - albeit dusty - castle, he feels that rage direct at the ones who have hurt his husband. He's angry at q!Cellbit, of course, what happened to "you'll never be alone again" huh? But he still loves him. He sees the reason behind q!Cellbit's thoughts because he's lost a son himself - but that doesn't make it hurt any less. He's confident after his display breaking out his husband he can defend them again, and is ready to fend off any particularly brave Federation workers.

They talk, talk some more, and go through their regular motions, and talk a whole lot more. They're not okay, neither will be for a while, and q!Roier is still somewhat angry. q!Roier's been betrayed, but q!Cellbit doesn't have that experience. q!Roier wished he didn't need to have that experience. They talk about it, and nothing is 'right', but it can get better.

[showingpitytowardsyourownkind]

and for the chapter one fans

Image ID 1: A TikTok comment by Jonathan Heart that says “Are they lovers?” with a reply from the creator, secret brittany that says “Worse” on top of Jon resting his hand on Sherry’s shoulder during the opening cutscene on the boat.

Image ID 2: A tweet by turtlekiosk that says “hey quit bugging me or I will inform you of a behavioral pattern that is noticeable to other people but I can tell you are not yet aware of” on top of Sherlock staring down a suspect.

Image ID 3: A Tumblr post by ewil that says “coping with the pain of living by being a little silly” on top of Sherlock watching Jon casually swim fully clothed inside the yacht club.

Image ID 4: A Tumblr post by manywinged that says “need one of those cones they put on dogs to stop them chewing open their half healed wounds but, like, psychologically” on top of Jon explaining the mental barriers in the mansion to an unamused Sherry.   

Image ID 5: A Tumblr post by starkidding-around that says “darling (condescending, with a bit of gay subtext)” on top of Verner looking intensely into Sherlock’s eyes, his face only half visible.

Image ID 6: A Tumblr post by handmaidensabe that says “*winks flirtily* and btw i am soooo haunted by the ghosts of my past mistakes and how preventable their consequences were. Do you want me carnally” on top of Sherlock looking over to Jon.

Image ID 7: A Tumblr post by internetenemy that says “superiority ‘complex’? i find it quite simple really” on top of Sherry mid-smug reply.

Image ID 8: A quote from Brooklyn Nine-Nine that says “i was born for politics i have great hair and i love lying” on top of Mycroft with his eyebrow raised arrogantly.

Image ID 9: A Tumblr post by girlwerewolf that says “need a boyfriend except he’s not my boyfriend and is just some weird guy I drag around with me everywhere” on top of Sherlock doing important detective work while Jon lurks, crouched on top of something in the background.

Image ID 10: A Tumblr post by ndiecity that says “I fucking love casting the first stone despite not being one who has not sinned” on top of Sherlock smugly interrogating a prisoner.

Image ID 11: An Onion local headline that says “Man Could Really Go For Unbridled Bacchanalia Of Earthly Delights Right About Now” on top of Verner looking solemnly through the bars of his gaol cell.

Image ID 12: A Tumblr post by greelin that says “he lived. served cunt. died. got resurrected. served even more cunt.” on top of John Watson, who has Jon’s exact face but with a moustache, as he meets Sherlock.

[legendofmorons]

Savior (Time)

This is part of my 100 followers event for @pinkittwice !

Pairing: Time x reader

Rating: G

Summary: When you find yourself captured by an unknown enemy, it's really just a matter of time until you're saved by your lover.

Warnings: Canon typical violence, protective Time

Other: If I missed anything, please let me know

-------

Today has not been your day. You could sit and review how you ended up here but that would be a waste of time. You're better off trying to get out of this site.

The ropes are tight around your wrists and ankles, all sharp objects taken away.

You don't even remember what exactly brought you here, just the screaming of Time as you fell unconscious.

You hope he's okay. Your lover has always been reckless with his own life if it meant someone he cared about would be okay.

The barred window is not a viable escape option, but it allows you to watch the sun drift across the sky aimlessly. The sky is vast. And your cell-

Your cell is anything but vast.

The stone floor leeches all of your body heat away from you. And to top off this great experience - they took your boots.

Great.

You'd try to chew through your ropes but your hands are behind your back and bending the way you would have to to get your ankles is hard without being tied up.

Goddess Hylia above.

You hope the boys kick your captor around extra hard. This is a disgrace of prison treatment.

Ugh.

You hear the first of the rain patters onto the roof above you. The soft nature sounds comforting.

At least you still have nature to give you songs.

You can imagine it now, the boys have always been a little protective of you. You aren't a chosen Hero like them.

Even if you can hold your own in a fight the boys still want to keep you safe. Unless someone is hurt super bad you're always the first to receive healing.

Mostly because Time insists, your lover has always been cautious with you.

Hopefully he finds you fast. Because you're half dehydrated and your head is giving a protest headache.

Not to mention being held hostage never leads to a happy outcome for the hostage.

What a mess.

"Holy shi-" someone's voice calls in fear.

"Where is (Y/n)?" Time's voice asks sharply.

You smile softly, he's here. Which means you're safe.

"I don't know who that is!" Calls back the first voice "Please put the sword down-"

"Where. Is. (Y/n)?" Time demands again, angrier.

Huh. You haven't really heard him this mad before.

Is it really because someone took you?

That's both really sweet and kinda weird. You'll have to unpack that later.

"The last cell!"

Footsteps come towards you. Quick and barely heard.

In fact- the footsteps are familiar.

Hands land on the bars of your cell, pulling at them with a hiss.

"(Y/n)!" Time calls when he sees you, something fragile in his voice.

"Time!" You smile, glad to see him and finally feeling fully safe.

"You're hurt." Time says, his eyes roving your form and cataloging each shallow scratch, bruise, and skinned knee.

His eyes seem to darken at what he finds. Obviously displeased with your injuries and imprisonment.

"It's … Not bad."

The try at reassurance doesn't do anything to help Time feel better.

"Let me get this door open and then we'll get you healed and safe."

"Okay."

Even as Time uses all the tricks he can, including his tools, he can't get the door open.

"Hylia-"

"It's okay. I'm sure Four or Wind can get the lock." You say, exhaustion catching up to you as your body realizes how safe you are now.

Time mutters under his breath, trying to slam the door open with his shoulder, Armour denting as he does.

"It's gonna be okay. I'm gonna get you out." Time says again, trying to figure out the best way to approach this.

"I know. "

"Sailor!" Time barks out, "Can you break the lock?"

"I can pick it." Wind says as he comes into view, already procuring a lockpick kit.

"Hurry." Time grits out, eyes holding yours even as the world starts to swim around you.

You swallow back your spit as you try to refocus. The world has spots swimming all over it.

Oh.

You've been running on adrenaline.

Huh.

You watch something launch at Time only to be harshly dispatched. The snarl he gives is harsh.

"No one touches them." Time says sharply.

Wind pops the door's lock right open. He pushes it open before stepping away.

Time rushes towards you as your vision goes dark, eyes closing.

You feel Time pick you up gently in a bridal carry. His voice is heard but not processed.

Your eyes refuse to open. You try again. And again.

And again.

They won't open.

"Link." You manage to whisper.

He says something but it's lost to the darkness.

You fall unconscious to Time's heartbeat pounding against your side. And it's okay.

Because you're safe.

……..

You wake slowly, to someone's hand holding your own. The person has rough calluses across their palm.

"Link- Time?" You ask, hoping it is your Link.

"(Y/n)." Time says with a relieved sigh.

You pry your eyes open, gaze landing on a very haggard Time. He looks exhausted.

But his gaze is soft and loving as he takes in the sight of you and how okay you are. That you're safe and with him.

"You saved me." You say, mind supplying the way he had held you close.

"I'll always save you." Time says evenly, his own voice thick.

"Thank you."

"Of course, (Y/n). I'm just sorry it took so long."

"It's okay. I'm here now."

"I know."

"You were angrier than I'd ever heard- what happened?" You ask, recalling the sheer callousness of the voice he'd used on the guard you couldn't see.

"They kidnapped you." Time says slowly, his gaze narrowing as he becomes sour.

The very thought seems to unlock an unfettered rage you've never witnessed. It's intense- but you also know that he would never turn his rage on you.

Ever.

"Hey, it's okay." You say, knowing he has some sort of undisclosed trauma fueling this particularly issue.

"I know. I'm just glad you're safe. I was so worried."

"I'm glad to be back with you."

"I'm glad too."

"How do you feel?"

"I feel okay. I'm just tired."

"Good."

You smile softly, sitting up from the covers before standing up from the bed.

You walk the few steps it takes to get to Time before hugging him tightly.

“Thank you.”

Time smiles gently, his eyes clear of worry this time. “Any time, (Y/n).”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Time leans in, kissing you gently.

And for him- it’s all okay. You are safe, and here. He didn’t fail.

[return-to-ravenbrooks]

Return to Ravenbrooks:

Biography

Entry 1

Name: Trinity Bales

Date of Birth: 1996

Gender: F

Current Address: 910 Friendly Court

Height: 5'8

Hair color: Black

Eye color: Purple

Key features: Pink lipgloss, blue eyeshadow, soft curls

Role: Leader

Occupation: Student

Abilities: Charisma, intelligence, quick thinker, good liar

Status: Fair

Biography:

The old Peterson house had long since been torn down ever since Mr. Peterson had been arrested. Left to rot without an occupant, it was condemned and eventually, bulldozed. Good riddance, I'd said at the time, but it looked like someone was finally doing something with the property. There weren't many new people coming anymore, given how the story of a serial kidnapper spread like wildfire. Not even the bars of a cell could keep those rumors from permeating. But, after many long years, there was finally a new neighbor, and, clearly, they were bold, too. Or more likely, they didn't know the full extent of what happened in that old house, and part of me was thankful, but I knew they'd face some less-than-favorable attention for doing so, to say the least.

I didn't have to wait very long to see who was moving in. A newer-looking red car rolled up on the curb as the construction team worked, and out stepped a man with short brunette hair, fuzzy on top with an undercut, dressed in a warm pink polo and teal-striped shorts. It made me double-take.

I'd heard from Nicky what he looked like. I'd even seen his pictures. But- this couldn't be him. No, It was a coincidence. There was no way he'd even be wearing the same outfit anyway.

I caught myself staring as the man turned his head to look at our house. His brown eyes caught the sunlight, reflecting amber and gold.

Just like Nicky described them...

But- surely not. Never in a million years it could be him. Not after what happened. He'd been gone so long that he was already presumed dead, with no body found.

...

I peeked through the window again.

He was talking with the construction crew.

He was holding the blueprints, too.

... An architect?

...

I moved away from the window, grabbing his shoulder to shake him awake. He groaned tiredly but slowly pulled the old burlap bag off his head.

"... Nicky? You need to come look at this"

"...what? What is it?" He yawned

I chewed my lip for a moment. "We... have a new neighbor..."

[lavishl0ve]

🩸Johhny Slaughter x Fem Reader🩸 (Part 2)

Part 2 continuation of my Part 1 Reader, I plan to make many more of these (which can also be read as a stand alone) but I heavily suggest reading the parts before these since I do reference some connections within previous parts! Again, these are my first fics and i’m not like an english major or whateva so i apologize if it isn’t perfect. Thank you and enjoy 🤩 (First part is on my page :)

Part 2: Scars

My dreams only remind me of the terror I wished to avoid. Ana screams echo throughout my head. I should have helped her, sacrificed myself. Maybe she could have been the one to escape. I curl into myself sitting on the rough mattress waiting, and waiting. Waiting for what? I’m not sure. May death have mercy and greet me with a cold kiss in my sleep. But death is late. I’ve lost count on how many days it's been, weeks? Each day that Johnny man swaps out my bandage, sometimes we exchange a few words but our encounters are usually in silence. With each encounter I grow with worry. Once the infection leaves my ankle is that when he’ll murder me? Oh god. Will I take Julie’s place on that meat hook..? I can’t think about it. I feel sick. Scratching interrupts my thoughts. That notifying sound of someone entering the basement, is it bad I was hoping it was Johnny? He was the only family member presenting some type of remorse or maybe it was just his job to make sure their food isn’t contaminated. Their. Food. I shake the thought. Sissy treds over and suddenly I'm disappointed. Better her than that cook though, last time he brought me food he spat in it. Safe to say I didn’t eat it. Not that the food is good anyways. She slides the plate under the small gap the bars have.

“Here Sugar.”

I look up at her giving her a small nod. Maybe I would have smiled if it wasn’t the same stew as always. But it’s better than starving…right? She stands for a moment watching me and sits down. I stare reluctantly at her.

“Go on, you’ll like it today. I made it.” She giggled.

Scooting forward I grasp the plate. It’s hot today. I take a small portion of the meat and take a bite. I chew once then twice. It’s incredibly tough, I let it linger in the back of my mouth acting like I swallowed it. She laughs again.

“How’s that red headed friend of yours taste?”

She mocks me poiking her razor blade through the bar so that it's mere inches from my face. I spit the chewed meat at her,

“You fucking monster!” I yell and I throw my plate at her.

shards of porcelain shatter on the floor from the impact, a few shards cutting her stew stained face.

She grabs my shirt through the bar hitting my head against the iron bars

“You fuckin’ bitch.” She screams, shaking me against the bars.

She takes her razor blade and slices right underneath my left eye.

“Eye for a fuckin’ eye.” she scowls, “Next time it’ll be more than that.”

She throws me on the ground, some of the chipped porcelain pieces cutting my legs. She leaves. I occupy my time picking the shards out of my legs.

—————————————————————-

I wake up to the thud of his boots approaching. Death had not visited me tonight. Unless Johnny is death. I see him walk towards the cell looking at the shards on the ground. He groans. Maybe he knows what happened. Entering, I face toward the opposite wall hiding the cut Sissy had given me. Maybe I'll just let this one get infected and die. He sits on the mattress right next to me removing the same compact tin and gauze again. I refuse to face him. He takes my ankle and unwraps the gauze himself.

“It’s better.” He remarks.

He goes through the daily process , applying the topical cream, then wrapping it up. He sighs.

“You’se alright sweetheart?” He questions.

“Don’t let er’ scare you.” He glances over left toward my face.

He saw the dried blood that had ran along my cheek. He grabs my chin with two fingers and turns my head to see the cut better.

“Fuckin’ Sissy.” He hissed through his teeth.

Johnny rose and stomped out the basement without another word. You didn’t hear the scratch of the door close though. Maybe this is my time to escape! But how the hell will I get out? I reach outside the bars fumbling with the lock. Impossible without a key… or a bobby pin. Digging into your messy hair hoping to find a remaining pin you used the day you guys got caught. It took some time but it was there. I unfold the bobby pin and inserting it into the lock trying to hear those “clicks” Connie talks about. I was never as good as Connie, although she tried to teach me, I had always got frustrated. I twist around the pin, unable to hear the noise. I click my tongue in frustration. I try to remove the pin, trying to restart. It snaps. Fuck. You throw the pin on the ground and sit back against the cold wall.

Johnny yells, “The hell you do to er’ Sissy?”

“She jus’ needed a lil’ lesson Johnny.” She replies, “Was actin’ like a bitch.”

Some words were muffled, at the end of their argument Johnny's words were loud enough to echo throughout the whole house.

“Don’t cha’ go on touchin’ my fuckin’ things Sissy!” he yells, “Or ya’ gonna get it worse than er’.”

You hear a door slam.

——————————————————————

The next morning you awaken to Johnny banging on the cell.

“Wake up.”

I rub my eyes, vision coming into view. Johnny unlocks the cell and grabs your wrist.

“Cmon’.”

“What- where are we going?” you ask.

You’ve never been out of the cell. Is this the end of your demise? Johnny clecthes some sort of emerald green fabric in his left hand. He leads you throughout the house towards the back walking through the kitchen, the sink stained red at the glance you get. We step outside, it’s still dark out, my bare feet touch the grass and I breathe in the fresh air. Finally, a nice change. He leads you toward the same shed which you first encountered him in. Pulling the switch on to turn on the lights you make out the space. Some kinda workshop of his I assume. He walks you through the side door which opens toward the back. He shoves a hose into your hand.

“Clean yourself off.”

Stunned you just stare at him, you can’t see much since the darkness covers his face. You wait.

“You gonna turn around…?” I ask uncomfortably.

“I gotta make sure you don’t run away sweetheart.”

You feel your cheeks blush, but you can’t resist a shower. (A somewhat shower). You walk a few steps from him. Facing away, you take off your shirt, then your underwear. Since you can’t see him he surely can’t see you right? At least that’s what you tell yourself. You turn the knob right and the cold water splashes immediately at your feet. You whince at the sudden shock, Johhny laughs under his breath.

“It ain’t gettin’ any hotter, make it quick.”

I suck it up and point the hose over my head dousing my hair, I bite the inside of you cheek. The water runs down my spine. I coat my hair, wash the dried blood off my cheek, thighs and scrap the stew remanents off on hands. Wow how I miss warm showers. I look back towards johnny he leans against the barn, cigarette in mouth, he glances back over like he knew I was watching him. I turned around finishing my “shower”. As I turned the knob off I hear johnny shift off the shed wall.

“ ere’.” He say’s cigarette in mouth.

He throws me the emerald cloth he’s been holding. I unfold it revealing some short dress. Probably Sissy’s. I pull the fabric over my head, then squeeze out the excess water in my hair. I walk back towards Johnny.

“So,” I pause, “Back to the cellar now?” I shrug.

“Naw’.” He throws the cigarette to the ground grinding it with his boot.

I’m taken aback as he walks away, I assume he intends I follow him. I quicken my steps with little hops and skips, the dirt collecting on my wet feet.

“Where we going?” I ask quickening my pace trying to catch up with him.

Johnnys strides are long, almost double mine. I skip every now and then just to catch up. He stays silent to my question. As we approach some junkyard filled a bunch of old rusted cars Johnny strides over to the back of an truck and puts down the cargo-bed hopping on the edge as he pulls out another cigarette. I stand there, what do I do? I take a moment then just decide to do the same, dangling my feet as he stares . He offers me the box,

“Oh no, I don’t-“

He nods and snatches the box away back into his pocket. The sun rises over the horizon painting his face a lovely orange and golden color. I study Johnny more in depth, his dark eyes stare into the sunset. Wow. Am I crazy? Or is he strangely attractive. A piece of his slicked hair falls in front of his face as he leans down towards his red lighter igniting his cigarette. His nose is so perfectly straight, jaw, hand sculpted. No Y/N stop. This is insane. I avert my attention towards the sunset hoping it’d change my thoughts but it can’t. I can feel him staring at me. He drops his head back down holding his cigarette between his legs as his forearms rest on his thighs. His forearms. I glance at them. Scar-covered. I decide to break the silence.

“How’d you get those?”

He scoffs, “Which ones?”

“These.” I trace the scars on his upper bicep.

“Barfight.” he mutters puffing his smoke again.

“Well… you’d win?”

He scoffs, “I always~ win Darlin’.”

The way he dragged out his S sent me into spiral. What is wrong with me?

“What about this?” I ask pointing to his left hand.

“Nubbins. He’d always set up traps when we ‘er kids.” He pauses, “Left a pretty good god damn mark.”

I nod agreeing with him.

“I’d suppose yours will leave more though’.” He winks and nods toward my ankle.

I purse my lips together.

“How about this one?” I ask moving his strand of hair, hinting at the scar going down his eye.

His eyebrows furrow. He doesn’t answer. Serious subject. We sit there for a minute.

“My Maw’…”

We stare at each other for a moment. His puffs the cigarette again, jumping off the cargo-bed. Did I fuck this up?

“We outta go back inside before they know I brought chu’ out.”

I jump down, “Back to the cellar?” I sigh.

A simple Mhmm rumbles between his lips. I look back towards the sunrise soaking up each ounce I could receive. Who knows if this is my last time seeing the sun, let alone the sun rise. But in the end, I guess beautiful things aren’t meant to last.

[raspberrysmoon]

hello im alice welcome to my descendants rewrite. here is the plot of movie number one!

(this would be marketed to adults/older teens. this is not a hypothetical childrens movie. i do not own the rights to these characters, and will never make any money off of this project. enjoy!)

beginning is the same. bens corronation is mentioned, he has to have a good thing before he can get married and take the throne. he chooses a villain reformation program. he suggests the daughter of the evil queen, and the son of cruella de vil.

evie and carlos are easy to beat into submission. easy to make powerless. sick even the friendliest dog on carlos, and he'll do as you say. evie can be separated from others and her source of power (her mirror and her friends) are easily stripped.

(mal is too powerful to take, in this scenario. her magic makes her too difficult. jay is similar- he's a thief. you cant easily take that from him.)

they're taken, and separated from mal and jay. for them, this is life altering, more than moving and leaving their lives behind. the vks are attached at the hip. they have nothing but each other, and separating them destroys them.

so evie and carlos lash out. they hurt people, they fight, they prank and threaten to kill others and themselves. when asked, all they say are names. mal and jay. they refuse to give more information.

ben is.. easy to walk all over, for the vks. he needs this to work. he's thought about this program his whole life. he disregards his parents wishes, and calls for mal and jay to be brought off the isle.

and it works. the fight in evie and carlos dies in seconds. the moment they see their other half, they deflate. they stop struggling. they go still, silent. all four of them are cuffed but its better than being separated completely. mal and jay are drugged but its better than them being gone. this is better than they'd ever dreamed of getting.

mal and jay are kept in a room, locked away and heavily drugged. theyre too dangerous to be let out. they cant be forced to be kind. carlos and evie can. ans they are.

every time one of them acts up, ben holds up a set of keys. keys to mal and jay. and they're back to being quiet. well behaved. they act up, and ben threatens to send mal and jay back home. and theyre back to being quiet.

until it stops working. they stop getting better- they stagnate. sure, they're not being violent, but they're pulling pranks and being mean and nothing anyone does gets through to them.

except for mal and jay, of course. ben plans a day for the five of them (and several knights) to hang out and talk without bars or medication or cuffs. to reason with them. to meet in the middle of what they need.

what they need is to be together. not just visits once a week, but spending the day together. taking classes together. playing sports and joining clubs.

and ben pulls out a paper. and makes them sign a contract.

one week. if, in one week he notices no improvement, mal and jay are put back into their cell, and business moves as it had been. they walk away with five signatures on a paper, and no hands in cuffs.

its a lot of trust, to put in villains. ben is thoroughly chewed out for it.

but it works, to an extent. they get better. they start playing silly, harmless pranks. a balloon in a locker, temporary hair dye in soap or lotion. nothing even remotely harmful.

until they get bored. until mal finds a way to get to the wand. and they pounce.

they get the wand. nobodys quite sure how- honestly they arent, either. but they get it. and by god do they duplicate it. everyone on campus has a wand look-alike in their room. the vks have dozens, ben has dozens, they're everywhere.

and nobody can find the real one. only jay knows where it is, tucked away in the architecture of the school somewhere, easy to move but hard to find.

and they get stripped, basically. they're separated from one another completely, only able to communicate in letter form, all of which are read and analyzed by multiple staff members, as well as ben himself, who's devastated.

the program is deemed a failure, and the vks are locked away to be forgotten about for a few weeks while the kingdom figures their shit out.

they've overturned the entire kingdom, and the wand is gone.

there are two words, on jays shoulder. magically tattooed.

i know.

and three on mal's, matching jays in font and size

let us out.

and the movie ends.